Bloodborne: Blood of the Wolf
by Eltyr
Summary: Trapped in a never ending hunt, a powerful Hunter desperately seeks to escape the cycle and finally transcend the hunt before his sanity fails him. What he does not realize is that he is not the only one trapped in a time loop, and a certain Vicar of the Healing Church may hold the key to his salvation...
1. Chapter 1

**Note from the author: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my first foray into the bizarre and macabre world of Bloodborne. This story of mine sprang from an idea that I had whilst watching a walkthrough done by the Youtuber Tear Of Grace; If you are easily amused by bad jokes, good editing and epic fails, I suggest you look him up. This story will star an OC of mine who is on partial loan to my good friend ColetteJH, although he will take second place in terms of importance next to the character that inspired this story. This will largely stick to the important events of the game but will feature several diversions from the normal chain of events. In addition, I will be taking major liberties with the personality and backstory of a cannon character (since said character ever only appears as a boss and has no backstory that I've found in the lore, this was not difficult). Without further ado, let the story begin.**

 **.**

 **Bloodborne: Blood of the Wolf**

 **First Moon: The Endless Hunt**

 _As a last line of defense against the madness that erodes my mind, I am writing this series of memoirs. The activity may yet serve to lend clarity to my thoughts, to crystalize my state of lucidity and sanity that I might look back upon them as one does an insect trapped in amber, and by so doing return to such a state. Should that fail, then perhaps these memoirs shall serve a very different - but still vital - purpose: a cautionary tale._

 _I am a Hunter. That should be obvious to any who finds this long after my permanent demise (if such a thing even exists) as I plan to store these manuscripts of mine here, in the Hunter's Dream. Considering that only Hunters can tread here, it would ergo follow that a Hunter wrote this._

 _But I was not always a Hunter. Even now as I try to recall the before, I find my mind strain from the effort, threatening to splinter here and there. Once I came from a world so very different from this black nightmare I find myself trapped in. Yet at the same time I_ _do_ _come from this world, someplace outside of Yharnam (God curse the name! May the city be swallowed up by the earth!). I find myself struggling with the burden of two memories, two sets of recollections, two different lives lived. I can only draw this conclusion: my soul was born in one world, a world with glass buildings that pierce the clouds and fantastic machines that fly through the air and do other marvelous things. My body was born in this world, this realm which bears a festering, rotting wound named Yharnam._

 _In the birth world of my soul I was a normal man. I studied for all of my childhood and well into my adolescence as is customary, and my life was full of joy and love and light. I had two loving parents and was the eldest of three adventurous sons._

 _In this world in which my body was born, I was abandoned from birth. In fact, my body was never supposed to be born: he was a mistake. My body's father was a noble who got drunk and was with a prostitute who forgot to take her contraceptives. She even tried to abort my body, but it was born anyway, and was quickly abandoned in the woods. I don't know how I know some of these things; perhaps in my growing madness I have gained enough Insight to see glimpses of the past? Regardless, my body was once again supposed to die, but a passing traveler heard its cries and took him to an orphanage. My body was never adopted, and the other children in the orphanage were unmercifully cruel to him. He left the orphanage when he was nine, running after a caravan of woodcutters. My body in this world grew up with no permanent home, going from job to job and starting more fights than can be counted. As time passed, his anger at the injustice and cruelty of the world grew and grew, and he learned how to turn his anger into a weapon. Even now the anger that this body fed fuels my strength and stubborn will to continue, to persevere._

 _One year my body was a woodcutter employed on a nobleman's estate. The nobleman's eldest daughter and heir, the beautiful Selene, saw my body and fell in love with him. My body remained ignorant of this affection, though she dropped subtle hints such as bringing him water and sneaking him food from the kitchen. Selene refused to see that her love was unrequited, or that her father would never allow such a union. Then her father learned of her feelings for my body, after all of his scheming and attempts to find her a marriage alliance. Enraged, he attempted to murder my body by stabbing a rapier through his throat. In a fit of fear and rage Selene stabbed her father with a knife, killing him. Miraculously my body had cheated death once again, but would not last long._

 _Selene had heard of Yharnam's miraculous blood healing, and took my body there guarded by her most trusted servants. Unbeknownst to her, my body also knew of Yharnam's blood healing, but he had also heard rumors of the consequences that came with it and the hunts, and was vehemently opposed to it. With most of her servants killed by crazed citizens, Selene barricaded herself and my body inside a clinic._

 _From there it is obvious as to what happened next: Selene found someone to give my body an infusion of blood. Paleblood to be precise, and then my body awoke in the Hunter's Dream, just in time to receive my soul._

 _In the world that my soul was born in, there are devices that allow one to view moving images and hear recorded sounds. There are other devices which, in conjunction with the first, allow one to play a make believe game. A sort of interactive story or grand play, in which the viewer is the 'player' who controls the star of the story and must triumph over many obstacles in order to win the day and the game._

 _One such game was known as_ _ **Bloodborne**_ _, and it is set here, in this world, in this accursed city, where the player controls a Hunter and takes on the nightmares that live here. That is why when my soul awoke in my new body, I at first thought that I was having a horrible dream, or had somehow been trapped inside the game and needed to win in order to escape. Odd, seeing as my soul never played the game but had heard much of it._

 _I am certain that if anyone has found this, they shall think me quite mad. And this is true, of course. After all, I have completed this hunt so many times I have lost count, and each time I have simply been sent back to the beginning. A scenario that would be called "New Game +" were this all a harmless game. Oh, how my soul writhes in agony and wishes this were so!_

 _As it stands, I have been on this same Hunt over and over and over and over and over again, until I lost count of how many times I've been sent back to perform the same hunt all over again._

 _So yes, I am a mad Hunter. For I am trapped in an endless hunt, eternally hunting foul beasts and even Great Ones occasionally, growing stronger and stronger and gaining more and more Insight. I stopped feeling human a long time ago, for my strength speed and skill are far above that of even veteran Hunters, and with the Insight I have gained my thoughts are constantly teetering between divine brilliance and absolute madness. Being trapped in this city, in this time loop, in this Hunter's Dream isn't helping my sanity either._

 _I wonder, am I merely an avatar? A player character that someone from my old world is controlling even now with a plastic controller? Am I just a figure of amusement for beings of greater power and influence than myself!? Am I a mere entertainer killing, dying and suffering to alleviate the sheer boredom of others?! DAMN YOU ALL,_ **LET ME OUT!**

 **.**

 **.**

 _...I had to take quite a bit of time in silence before attempting to write again. My temper… that is, the temper of my body was never what one might consider restrained. My soul boasts far greater self-control, but I am at my wits end. I have tried everything I can think of to escape this madness. I have tried fighting and killing my mentor, the first Hunter Gehrman, just as I have also allowed him to execute me and release me from the Hunter's Dream. I have even fought against the Moon Presence that had taken him as its surrogate child, but every time I have the monster half-dead or wake up after being released from the Hunter's Dream, the time loop resets, and the Hunt begins anew all over again. I've saved every survivor of this terrible Hunt that can be saved, and sent them to the clinic, the sanctuary, or a combination of the two, but still I am trapped. I've even been to Old Yharnam and fought the echo of Maria in the Dreamlands. Nothing, nothing, nothing… No way out. "Seek Paleblood to transcend the Hunt," that is what I was told. Have I not done this? Have I not done this so many times? I… I need to rest. Sleep is so hard for me to capture these days… or perhaps nights is more accurate. I haven't seen any sunlight save for the setting light of dusk in what seems like a century. For now I shall end my memoir by signing my name. It is not the name of my soul or the name of my body. Rather, it is a new name that I took for myself at some point in my long watch, a new moniker with which to bind myself to a new identity, this blending of a body and soul born in different worlds._

 _My name is Draven Jaeger, and I am a Hunter._

 _._

The doll smiled gently and placed a blanket over the man's sleeping form. The good Hunter stirred in his fitful sleep for a moment before relaxing again. He was sleeping in his favorite spot, a particular tree next to the field of Paleblood flowers, his back propped against the trunk with his tricorn cap pulled down to shield his face. Still she could make out his shoulder length dirty blond hair and his sunken face that must have been quite handsome once. The long Hunt had taken a great toll on his features; he bore scars and his eyes had dark bags beneath them, adding to his worn appearance.

Despite his worn body the Hunter's gear attested to his great prowess. On his chest he wore a solid steel plated vest that somehow did not slow him despite its weight, and upon his broad shoulders he wore black boiled leather pauldrons that like the rest of his gear was reinforced by many bloodstones. Curious black leather and steel laced gauntlets of the Hunter's own design adorned his arms, with small metal plates sewn onto the fingers, fingertips, and even parts of the palms. An elaborate belt hung about his waist and sported many pouches and sheaths for the Hunter's weapons and tools, and the black breeches he wore also contained pouches for storing items. His black boots had metal plates affixed to the top of the toes and came with matching steel shin guards, and lastly the Hunter wore around his neck a long scarf colored a brilliant crimson; it protected the Hunter's mouth while allowing the two ends to trail out behind him when he walked.

However it was the Hunter's weapons that spoke the most of his skill. His pistol was unassuming but had been modified extensively to increase his power, but his main weapon was a sword, an elegant rapier. The long blade was far thicker than was normal for swords of its like, and was colored a peculiar shade of deep blue. The hilt was made of platinum and bore a twisting, flowing design like water that appeared to wrap around the handle and the hand holding it. It gave off a chilling aura, as if it had been made from the coldest of ice and was bewitched to never melt. No Hunter had ever carried such a weapon, of that the doll was certain. But it was all the Hunter would ever use, and since he rarely entered the Hunter's Dream due to being slain, it was safe to assume that the sword served him well.

The doll stood from where she had been observing the Hunter and slowly made her way towards the workshop. She had graves to visit, even if she couldn't recall whose graves they were and why she had to visit them. She did not know if the Hunter would be angry with her for reading his memoirs, but she had felt drawn to know what it was that the Hunter had been writing so feverishly. She was concerned by the Hunter's belief that he had been on the same hunt an uncountable number of times, especially since she was quite certain she had only ever known him for this particular hunt. Still, she believed that what he had written was indeed true, even the part about his soul coming from another world: it would explain why he had such incredible Insight for a human. Even so, if the good Hunter really was trapped in a time loop as he claimed to be, she hoped that he would find a way to escape from it soon. Even though this meant that she would never see him again, she did not wish to see him lose himself.

The sound of a small bell chiming reached the doll's ears. Pausing, she turned her head towards a nearby tombstone and observed a small butterfly with bright blue wings that seemed to glow with soft light. It alighted upon the tombstone and slowly flexed its wings, keeping perfectly still. The doll was certain that it was observing her, and sensed that it was far more than it appeared to be.

"Greetings little one," the doll said with a small curtsey. "Where did you come from?"

 _"From a place between this dream and others,"_ a warm velvet voice replied. _"A place betwixt dreaming and awakening, which mortals sometimes glimpse at dawn's first light. I have come here to fulfill the pact I made with the good Hunter many dreams ago. But for this, I will require your assistance, little doll given life through dreams."_

 _._

At the center of Yharnam's Cathedral Ward, the Grand Cathedral stood silent and still. Within it, many candles were lit, their feeble lights trying in vain to hold back the dark night in their multitude.

And before the great altar, she knelt shivering. Not from the cold, not from the fear of the howling man beasts beyond the cathedral walls. No, she clasped her grandfather's golden amulet in her hands that were uncomfortably like claws and prayed fervently to the gods that she would die.

She'd lost count of how many times it had happened now. She awoke so often from the nightmare that she could no longer tell if she was still experiencing the night terror, or if it was all real. Again and again, she had changed into that… that terrible _beast,_ and had spent the long night in a state of fever and perverse sinful pleasure, hunting and feasting and descending into madness. Then the red moon would rise… oh gods yes the _moon_ would rise, and her nightmare would reach terrible new heights as many beasts joined her in the hunt, only to be devoured by her as she grew bigger and stronger. And when she finally lost all reason and her mind became devoid of thought, the sun would rise, her flesh would burn… and she'd find herself back in the cathedral, human again as if she'd merely dozed off.

She had no idea how long this had been going on for, but she desperately wished it would end. Once, before she could change, she'd even found a dagger at the altar and slit her own throat in a desperate attempt to escape the endless cycle of nightmares and blood and madness, only to awake once again kneeling and praying.

Tears fell from her eyes as she silently wept, but she did not dare cease her pleas to the gods. Perhaps this time she wouldn't change. Or perhaps this time she would die, and be welcomed into the gods' warm embrace in the hereafter. Or maybe… maybe a Hunter would come. Yes… surely the Hunters of the Healing Church were watching? Could they not see that she was succumbing to the scourge? Why did they not end her suffering?!

She stiffened when a low, feral growl reached her ears. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she paused in her prayers to glance about for the source of the noise, her heart beating painfully within her chest. Then a cold chill of dread ran down her spine as she realized that the growl had come from her own throat.

 _"Why?"_ She whimpered. "Why did we dare so much? How could we ever presume to become..?" She shrieked in pain as a now familiar ache in her bones began to announce itself, her blood beginning to boil as strange desires sought to devour her sane thoughts. She moaned and screamed as pain began to mingle with a perverse and unnatural pleasure, her body twisting and warping along with her mind. She grit her teeth, trying to ignore the way they were elongating into fangs, and drew back her hand that now bore claws instead of fingers. A moment's hesitance as she remembered the holy teachings, but then her mind began to slip again, and she plunged her claws into her own throat, gurgling as the pain-

She gasped as she came back to herself. She was kneeling before the altar, shivering in cold and terror. She mutely felt her body with her hands, confirming that while somewhat thin and boney due to lack of nutrition, she was human again. The bottom of her lip trembled for a moment before she fell forward onto her hands and knees, heart wrenching sobs wracking her tiny frame. She did not hear the soft chiming of a tiny bell, nor did she see the butterfly that alighted upon the altar.

Her name was Amelia, Vicar of the Healing Church, and she was cursed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Bloodborne: Blood of the Wolf**

 **Second Moon: The New Blood**

Draven stopped suddenly and cast his gaze skyward. The sun had almost completely set as he made his way towards the Cathedral Ward, easily dispatching the many man beasts in his path as easily as one would swat flies. But now he was sure he had heard something. He remained still and strained to listen, focusing senses that had been honed to superhuman levels over the course of the long hunt.

He stiffened as he heard it again: an inhuman scream, distant but there. "I know that call," Draven muttered as he moved with purpose and speed in the direction it had come from. "That's the Cleric Beast. But I shouldn't be able to hear it unless…" Now he moved at such a speed that the cityscape blurred about him as he sprinted, avoiding man beasts and crazed Yharnamites with stiff skill and ease. These streets from which he could never escape held no secrets from the Hunter, and in only a few twists and turns he found himself before the bridge that lead to the Cathedral Ward.

While he could never be sure just what he had expected to find, the scene that Draven found waiting for him was still surprising enough to stun him into inaction. There was the Cleric Beast, engaged in battle with another Hunter, one Draven had never seen before. The Hunter appeared to be male judging from the build of his body and was dressed with the usual tricorn hat and sported black boots and gloves, but he wore the armor of castle Cainhurst and was wielding a copy of Ludwig's Holy Blade.

Snapping from his brief stupor, Draven swiftly made his way to a nearby alleyway out of sight from the bridge. Crouching, he summoned the inhuman strength granted to him by the old blood and the long hunt and leapt as high as he could, his hands quickly finding purchase on the side of the battered building as he scrambled up and onto the rooftop to better view the battle. He could see that the new Hunter was holding his own against the Cleric Beast, wielding his great sword with skill and dealing many crushing blows. But at the same time, the Hunter was being struck by the beast almost as often as he was striking it, his evasive rolls somewhat sluggish and poorly timed. In fact, as Draven watched the battle he began to realize that the Hunter was not making any great effort to dodge: he seemed to be relying on interrupting the beast's attacks with timely uses of his gun, yet he never went for visceral attacks and instead simply dealt damaging lunges. Even so, the Hunter rarely used blood vials to heal himself, and didn't seem to be particularly bothered by the damage he was incurring.

"I have no memory of you," Draven muttered as he watched the battle continue. "And you make no sense: you wear the armor of Cainhurst, yet this battle has gone on for so long, it's almost as if you don't possess the strength necessary to survive the place. Your skills are lackluster, yet your gear is of great quality. And I have never encountered another Hunter here…" He trailed off as a profound realization entered his mind like sunlight entering a dank prison cell. "You're something _new,_ something that has never happened before on this hunt." His heart beat with new vigor as he tried to calm himself and prevent his hopes from rising too high. _Is there a chance that the cycle is ending, or at the very least changing?_ "Only one way to find out…"

So resolved Draven stood and drew his sword, the blue blade glittering beautifully in the fading twilight. He ran to the edge of the rooftop and leapt to the one adjacent to it, moving from roof to roof in an effort to get closer to the fight. Below, the new Hunter and the Cleric Beast had reached a stalemate, with the Hunter desperately trying to find an opening in the beast's attacks in order to strike a decisive blow. An idea formed in Draven's head when he saw the beast stagger back from a successful two handed strike from the Hunter's great sword. Increasing his speed, Draven focused upon the Cleric Beast's head to the point where everything else in his vision slipped out of focus, his target getting closer and closer as he readied his sword. When he finally ran out of rooftop Draven leapt with all his might and sailed through empty space towards the bridge. The new Hunter looked up just in time to watch Draven come crashing down on top of the Cleric Beast, his blade buried in the beast's brain as it let out a horrendous shriek and collapsed under the sudden impact. For a few moments it attempted to struggle and writhe in agony while Draven regarded the new Hunter from his perch on the dying man beast. With a quick twist of his rapier Draven drove his blade yet deeper, silencing the beast's screams before jerking the sword free with a sickening squelch.

"Hail Hunter, well met, I hope," Draven said as he stepped off of the Cleric Beast's corpse, calmly wiping his blade off on a nearby flagstone. "I haven't seen another Hunter in this part of Yharnam in an age. Tell me: how many hunts does this make it for you?"

The Hunter could only stare at the man in awe. He had seemingly materialized out of nowhere to strike with the lethality of a bolt of lightning, brutally destroying the monster he had been struggling against as if it was _nothing._ "W-who are you?" he managed to stammer, taking a step back cautiously as the stranger had yet to sheathe his weapon, and there was something unnerving about the electric blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through him from beneath the traditional Hunter's cap he wore.

Draven raised a brow at the Hunter and took in his features. He had a somewhat broad face framed by a crop of dark brown hair and his strongly defined chin was covered in messy brown stubble. His eyes were interesting to Draven as well: the left eye was green, while the right eye was brown. As for the eyes themselves, Draven could clearly see awe and fear within them, and noted the way that the Hunter was constantly shifting the weight of the great sword resting on his shoulder.

Draven sighed and sheathed his sword, causing the Hunter to relax a little. "Very well then. My name is Draven. So long as you make no attempt to attack me, I will give you no cause to fear the same from me."

The Hunter let out a sigh of relief and hefted his great sword off of his shoulder, resting it on his back. "I-I'm Geralt. Geralt of Riverton."

"Well met then, master Geralt," Draven nodded. "Now that the formality of introductions is past us, I believe you owe me an answer to my previous question: how many hunts does this make it for you?"

"This is my first," Geralt huffed as he sat down on a nearby slab of ruined masonry. "I came to Yharnam hoping to heal an injury I sustained while serving in the foreign legion, and somehow I got tangled up in this damned hunting business."

Draven's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Ah, a soldier then? But how could this be your first hunt when your equipment speaks of veterancy?"

Geralt gave Draven a look of bewilderment. "What? I don't know what you're on about: I've never been on one of these hunts! I found this gear waiting for me when I woke up in the…" He fell silent suddenly and looked away.

In an instant Draven was inches away from Geralt, moving so quickly that he appeared to vanish from sight and causing Geralt to flinch back in fear so violently that he toppled backwards with a startled cry. "The dream?" Draven's voice was a harsh and desperate whisper, his eyes were blazing with mania. _"The Hunter's Dream?_ Do you have the dreams too?!"

"Y-y-yes!" Geralt spluttered, one hand grasping the hilt of his sword. "It's some weird place that I can go to from these lanterns that I've seen in the city. A-and sometimes if a fight goes wrong-"

"You die, only to wake up somewhere else, and return to Yharnam good as new." Draven finished, stepping back slowly as if reeling from a blow. A great smile found its way to his face and he tilted his face skyward and began to laugh uncontrollably, the sound of it echoing throughout the empty streets and setting the hairs on the back of Geralt' s neck on end. Geralt slowly crept to his feet and twisted the handle of his great sword, unlocking the inner blade from the sheathe and beginning to draw it out. Draven heard the scraping of the blade as it slid free and forced himself to calm down. "There's no need for that Geralt: I told you that I won't give you any reason to fear an attack from me so long as you don't give me reason to." He faced Geralt again and held a hand up in a placating manner. "So let's do this the easy way where you don't use that and I don't kill you and send you back to the Hunter's Dream, deal?"

Geralt hesitated: the certainty in Draven's voice left no room for pride or overconfidence. On the one hand, he had seen Draven take down the Cleric Beast as if it had been nothing. There was also the fact that he seemed to know something about the Hunter's Dream, and something told Geralt that he knew more about what was happening to Yharnam as well. On the other hand, it was plain to see that Draven was unbalanced, and Geralt wasn't certain that having enough might to take down a giant monster was a great thing to mix with that. However, given that Geralt was more than willing to avoid having to go through the pain of death yet again, he slid his sword back into its sheathe on his back and lowered his hand from its hilt.

"Excellent, glad we're doing this the civil way," Draven remarked with a dry smile. "I really must apologize for my outburst just now: it has been a very, _very_ long time since I've met a new Hunter who wasn't mad or wanted to kill me. Now I'd be lying if I said I was the picture of mental health, but I haven't quite gone mad yet, so let's try this again." He glanced at a nearby lantern and motioned for Geralt to follow him. "Let's continue this discussion in the Hunter's Dream: I can practically hear the questions demanding your tongue to voice them, and I have questions of my own for you."

.

A few hours later Draven and Geralt were sitting across from each other in the workshop in a pair of chairs that were waiting for them when they arrived together in the Hunter's Dream. Geralt had sat in silence and listened attentively as Draven told him of how Yharnam came to reach its current state, along with the origins and truths of the Healing Church, Byrgenwerth, and the true sinister nature of Yharnam's special blood. Geralt had been horrified and revolted to learn of the Church's experiments and of the Great Ones, but had been spellbound when Draven told him of his first hunt and the time loop that he seemed to be stuck in. Despite the outrageous and insane nature of his claims, Geralt could at least accept that the man had been on many hunts and knew what he was talking about. Secretly, he found the idea of a time loop to be nothing more than madness brought on by Draven participating in back to back hunts without rest.

"So you see, that's why I was confused when I first saw you fighting that beast," Draven explained as the doll entered the room and set a tea tray down on a table next to them. "I saw you using equipment that is found in a place with much more terrifying and powerful creatures than can be found in these streets, and yet you were struggling against a creature that should have proven trivial if this was not your first hunt. I must confess, I'm _still_ confused by you."

Geralt thanked the doll as he took a sip from his teacup, relishing the soothing feeling of the warm bittersweet liquid dancing along his tongue before trickling down his throat. "That makes two of us. As I said before, this gear was waiting for me in a chest when I first woke up here. It was in that trunk just there," he added while motioning behind Draven. Turning his head Draven frowned as he took in the sight of two trunks, one of which was his own and housed his impressive collection of gear.

"Perhaps these are questions best saved for another time," Draven finally conceded with a shrug as he took a sip of his own tea. _Maybe this really isn't your first hunt,_ Draven mused privately. _Perhaps you are stuck in a time loop like me, but with the added mercy of forgetting what happens every time the loop resets._ "What's important now is that we focus on the hunt at hand. We must clear the way to the Cathedral Ward and Byrgenwerth, as both will likely be where we will find the Greater Ones we are hunting. Killing them is the only way to stop the scourge of beasts from spreading beyond Yharnam."

"I still can't quite wrap my head around that," Geralt admitted while shaking his head. "Hunting Great Ones. You say the church and the rest of the city thinks they're gods?"

"Indeed," Draven scowled. "And from a certain perspective it's easy to see why they were mistaken as such. But with all of the horror and madness that their mere presence causes, how could such things be considered benevolent entities of a divine nature?" Draven shook his head in disgust. "Just remember this my friend: if it bleeds, you can kill it, and the Yharnamites have been imbibing the blood of these monstrosities for years, hence the current state of affairs. Ergo, the Great Ones can bleed, and we can kill them."

Geralt laughed lightly. "Damn, but you make it all sound so simple." He gave Draven a small smile and a nod. "Alright, well you clearly know what you're doing, so I'll defer to your expertise on all of this. I've never been good at planning for these sorts of things: it's one of the reasons why I never made it that far up the chain of command in the army."

Now it was Draven's turn to laugh. "What, no mind for strategy?"

"It's more a matter of me being better at following orders than giving them," Geralt explained. "So, what's our first move?"

"Our first move," Draven said as he and Geralt rose from their seats and made their way out of the workshop, "Is to return to the streets of Yharnam and have you face off against me in a series of mock battles. I was watching you in your fight with the Cleric Beast earlier," he explained when Geralt sent him a questioning look. "Needless to say, I am not impressed. A Hunter must stalk his prey with skill, finesse, and speed. You took far too many blows and nearly got better than you gave back."

"But, the beast's blows weren't able to harm me too badly," Geralt protested. "And with my strength, I'm sure that eventually I-"

"-Would have been killed," Draven cut him off. "You created openings that you did not take full advantage of, and missed several other openings that you didn't know were there. Given enough time your resources would have run out or the Cleric Beast would have gotten a lucky strike, and then you would have died. You want to survive this hunt while dying a minimum number of times, don't you?"

"Well, yes…"

"Then shut up and let me instruct you. I need to fight you to get a better idea of what I have to work with. From there we can-"

"Dammit, dammit, **dammit!** " Draven and Geralt both blinked in surprise before darting down the garden path towards the source of the disturbance. Kneeling at the entrance of the Hunter's Dream was a woman with long red hair who was clothed in what looked to be a black version of the Choir's Garb uniform. Resting atop her fiery locks was what had to be the most ridiculous hat Draven had ever seen: a black wide-brimmed thing with a long pointed tip in the center like a classic witch hat. The woman seemed to be fuming over something, cursing darkly under her breath while the doll looked on nearby with a patient smile on her face.

"Damn stupid beasts! I was _this_ close to lighting the damn lamp! Now I have to go all the way back to Central Yharnam from the bridge! Gah, I _hate_ this cit..!" She trailed off when Draven cleared his throat loudly, causing her to turn towards him and Geralt. She blinked owlishly at them and a light dusting of red colored her cheeks before she raised a brow at them. "What the..? Since when are there other Hunters in this weird dream place?"

"Well technically, there's always at least one Hunter here," Draven shrugged, "but that's beside the point. Until I met Geralt here on the bridge fighting the Cleric Beast, we each believed that we were the only Hunter that came here." Out of the corner of his eye Draven noted with no small measure of amusement that Geralt was blushing in the direction of the lady Hunter.

The woman pursed her lips in thought over this. "So we've each been to this dream while never seeing each other? Does that mean that we were simply missing each other, leaving and arriving within minutes of each other? Or was there something else preventing us from meeting?"

"With the frequency that we visit this place I'd think it's the latter of the two, though the how and why escape me." Draven turned to Geralt, frowned, and then proceeded to slap the back of his head. "Close your mouth Geralt: your tongue's getting dusty."

The woman giggled as Geralt glared daggers at Draven. "Well anyway, it's nice to finally meet some decent Hunters in this city: my name's Cereza. I gather that mister chatterbox is named Geralt, so that leaves you as the only one whose name I don't know."

"Draven Jaeger," Draven replied with a bow. "At your service."

"Well now, this is certainly an unexpected development." Geralt and Cereza both started at the fourth voice, but Draven merely turned to see Gehrman wheeling himself over in his wheelchair. "This Hunter's Dream has never played host to so many good Hunters at once. Perhaps this is an omen… I believe this night will be long indeed."

Cereza snorted derisively. "You always say that the night will be long old man. I doubt this one's going to be any different."

Draven glared at her. "Show some respect! Master Gehrman…" He trailed off as the full meaning of Cereza's words dawned on him. "Wait… this isn't your first hunt?"

Cereza spread her arms wide and shrugged. "Well, yes and no, see it's a weird story and you'd never believe me if I told it to you."

Draven smiled. "Try me."

.

 _Great, just what we need,_ Geralt thought dismally as he listened to Cereza's tale. _Another crazy Hunter, and a_ woman _no less._ Geralt wasn't quite sure what to make of their being a female Hunter, though he thought it wise to keep such opinions to himself. As for her story, Cereza claimed to have hunted in Yharnam once before, and that she had slain a Great One known as the Wet-nurse, a name that Draven recognized. But then afterwards she had been summoned back to the Hunter's Dream.

"And after that… nothing," Cereza finished with a frown. "I can't remember what happened next, apart from waking up in the clinic of doctor Isofeka all over again as if the hunt had never happened."

Draven hummed thoughtfully. "Interesting. It seems the three of us all have some sort of experience as Hunters, or at the very least are better equipped for a hunt than most beginners," he amended with a nod in Geralt' s direction. "With three Paleblood Hunters, this hunt should be far easier to manage, and perhaps there will be a few outcomes that can be changed where once they were occurrences that were set in stone."

Cereza and Geralt both gave Draven odd looks. "What exactly do you mean by that?" Cereza asked.

"Nothing for now," Draven said. "Not until I have time to test a theory of mine. But first… Cereza, you remember how to fight from your previous hunt, right?"

"Well yes…"

"Excellent," Draven smiled as he stood up from where he had been sitting at the foot of the stairs and walked back towards the tombstone used for warping, patting Geralt' s shoulder as he passed him. "In that case, I have a project that I need to check on, so I'll leave Geralt here in your capable hands."

Geralt and Cereza both blinked owlishly. "W-what?" Geralt stuttered.

" **What?!** " Cereza cried. "You're just dumping him on me?! What happened to us working together here!?"

"I have faith in your abilities Cereza," Draven called over his shoulder while trying to hide his amused smirk. "Just make sure he has a full understanding of the basics. If you have a problem, you could always just try and kill me the next time we meet." With that said he touched the tombstone and vanished from the Hunter's Dream, leaving behind a fuming Cereza and a nervous Geralt.

"Bollocks," Cereza snarled as she rounded on Geralt, feeling a little satisfaction from the way the younger Hunter flinched at her angry expression. "Alright, since the prick has dumped you with me, we'll be doing this my way."

.

Emerging within the Hunter's Nightmare, Draven took a moment to collect himself, steadying himself against one of the walls while he waited for his thoughts to grow coherent again. This happened every time he entered the Nightmare now, regardless of which Nightmare it was. He knew it was a bad sign, even if he didn't know what it was a sign of. And that was why he needed to make this his last trip to see her.

"I need you to hear me this time, Maria," Draven muttered to himself. "This may be your last chance… as well as his."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Spoilers abound for the main story here, and I'm about to take several liberties with the stories of certain characters here, so you've been warned.**

 **Brace yourselves…**

 **Bloodborne: Blood of the Wolf**

 **Third Moon: Wolf in Nun's Vestments**

"Remind me again: why are we the ones out here risking our lives against these beasts while Draven still has yet to lift a finger to help us?"

Cereza rolled her eyes and clapped her hands together above her head, the luminous energy conjured by A Call Beyond effectively clearing out the mob of beasts that had surrounded her and equally effectively shutting Geralt up. "He said that he wanted to see if there was a way to save someone that he wasn't able to last time. Since he gave you that music box the last time we met up in the Hunter's Dream, I have a pretty good idea of who he means. Now shut up and swing!"

Geralt sighed and swiftly rolled out of the way of a Yharnamite who was trying to impale him with a pitchfork and quickly dealt him a quick slash with his longsword, killing the man in a shower of blood. He'd gotten much better with his sword outside of its great sword form ever since he'd begun training with Cereza, though he was still far below her in terms of skill level. The past few days (at least it _felt_ like days, despite the fact that the sun still had yet to finish setting) had seen him and Cereza exploring the streets leading to Central Yharnam while Geralt honed his craft as a Hunter. During that time, he had gained a new-found respect for Cereza, as she wielded her Threaded Cane with poise and confidence and moved around strikes from the beasts as though she were a dancer. On top of that, she called forth great arcane spells to devastate her prey from afar with the ease with which one recites a line of poetry. His own movements seemed sluggish and boorish by comparison, and he had silently vowed to reach her level someday, even if he wasn't sure why it was so important to him.

By contrast, Cereza was constantly amazed by the inexperienced Hunter Draven had asked her to tutor. His raw strength was otherworldly: she had a very difficult time believing Draven's claim that Geralt had struggled against the Cleric Beast. Even when striking with his sword in its smaller form, he took down nearly every man beast they came across with a single blow. His stamina seemed inexhaustible, and his physical durability was so great that he seemed to shrug off attacks that seemed certain to kill him as though they were nothing. Sure he'd lacked in finesse when she first began instructing him, but he learned quickly and better still: he never stopped improving. It was like coming across the foundations of an unfinished building: she could see great potential waiting to be built upon. There was no doubt in the arcane Hunter's mind that Geralt would develop his own unique hunting methods, and she wanted to be there when he did.

Gesturing with her threaded cane, Cereza called forth a path of lightning and incinerated the last of their assailants, the rest having been brought down by Geralt' s titanic blows. Checking their surroundings, Cereza soon recognized where they were, and sadness gnawed at her heart. "Geralt, get that music box Draven gave you ready. We're about to need it."

Geralt gave her a puzzled look but obeyed, pulling out a small music box from one of his pockets. "Cereza, what exactly is this for?"

Cereza bit her lip and half turned his way, and when she did Geralt was rendered speechless by the sadness in her eyes. "...It's a reminder," she said at last. "A reminder meant for a man who… is about to forget himself."

.

Draven deftly caught the pitchfork with the flat of his blade and, in one lightning moment, batted it aside and drove the tip of his rapier straight through the man's throat. He then yanked it free and slashed to his right in a wide arc, taking three more men unawares before spinning to his left and ducking a cleaver before firing a shot with his pistol. He swiftly followed up with a visceral attack, and then he was alone again. Alone with his anger, and no beasts to vent it on.

After getting back from the Hunter's Nightmare and giving the music box to Cereza and Geralt he'd gone back to Iosefka's clinic, hoping that just this once he might get there early enough to actually meet the woman face to face and convince her to leave with him before the impostor arrived to murder her. Only to once again taste the bitterness of being too late to save her. He'd then gone back to Old Yharnam to speak to Djura, to try and convince him that together they could end the hunts once and for all, and there would never again be a need for the atrocities committed by the old workshop. But his words had fallen on deaf ears, and with fire and lead the last Powder Keg once again chased him from the charred streets that he stood vigil over. He even visited Gilbert, hoping to give the poor man… well, hope.

Draven tightened his grip around his sword's hilt, his feelings of hopelessness and powerlessness transmuting into white hot rage. Without warning he roared and began to flail about wildly, lashing out with his sword at whatever was nearby: stone, plaster, the flesh of beasts, nothing escaped the whirlwind of anger that he had become. Eventually he stopped his frenzied attacks and once again screamed at the sky, this time following up with a shout of: "WHY? WHY CAN'T I SAVE THEM?!" Silence was his only answer, and he sank to his knees overcome with weariness. After a few long minutes, Draven slowly dragged himself to his feet and stood again, walking onward through the desolate city streets at a tired trot. Unbeknownst to him, every beast within five blocks of him had gone still and quiet, their blood frenzy and madness momentarily cowed by the sheer fury of this one Hunter's cries.

He did not stop until he reached his destination, a red lantern hanging next to a lit window that he slowly approached. Reaching out, he gently rapped on the window pane a few times with his hand, the metal sewn into his gauntlets clinking as he did so. Before long a little girl's voice spoke up from beyond the window.

"Hello? Who's there? Is that you, papa?"

Draven swallowed past the lump forming in his throat and made an effort to keep his voice level. "Evening little one, I am a Hunter. We spoke earlier: you asked me to find your mother and father…"

"Oh, it's you then!" Chirped the little girl, her cheerfulness nearly breaking Draven's composure. "Did you find mummy? Is she with daddy?"

He almost faltered upon hearing the hope in her voice. But he summoned the lingering anger of his recent failures, and pressed on. "Little one, your father sent me to find you and your sister, as a favor from one Hunter to another. He told me to tell you to pack your things, only what you need for the night, and to take you and your sister somewhere safe."

There was silence for a few moments. "Why didn't daddy come himself? Is he alright? Has something happened?"

"Gascoigne made me promise to take you somewhere safe," Draven insisted. "He's… tracking a very dangerous beast right now. Now please, I need you to do as I say. He told me that he didn't think you would be safe here as the night wears on. Will you come with me?"

"Y-yes, alright, just let me wake my sister and get our things. Where should we go to?"

"I'll be taking you to Odeon Chapel myself," Draven said, relief beginning to fill his chest. "I promised your father that I'd make sure you were safe, and I intend to honor that promise."

.

Geralt sat with his arms folded before him, knee propped up on the stairs in the Hunter's Dream as he stared silently at the field of flowers. Cereza didn't like that. She didn't like that his normally expressive dual-colored eyes were clouded with doubt.

"We did what we had to do," Cereza insisted as she sat next to Geralt. "He would have attacked other innocents if we hadn't put him down."

"That's not what bothers me," Geralt sighed. "Well, it _does_ bother me, but that's not what _really_ bothers me."

Cereza frowned. "Then what is it? Are you wondering if the same thing will…"

"...Happen to us?" Geralt finished. "Yeah, I am. I mean Gascoigne was a Hunter too Cereza: he fought like one right up until he…" He trailed off into silence, reluctant to continue his train of thought.

Cereza sighed. "I'm sorry Geralt, I really am, but I don't know how to answer that. I've already survived one hunt without turning into a beast, and Draven claims that he's been on so many that he's lost count, but he's still human."

Geralt turned to raise a brow skeptically at the lady Hunter. "I don't know Cereza, Draven doesn't really strike me as being any saner than Gascoigne was. And you don't seriously believe that the two of you are stuck in a time loop, do you?"

"I dunno Geralt," Cereza moaned as she reached up to massage her temples. "Nothing in this damn city makes any sense anymore. I _know_ I've hunted in this city before: how else would you explain how I know how to hunt and use the spells that I cast? I just don't know why we've never seen each other before if Draven's been doing this for as long as he claims he has."

"There's an easy answer to that: he's losing his mind and imagining things!"

Cereza glared at Geralt, hazelnut eyes seeming to glow like fire. "And what about me? Did I just 'imagine' the last hunt I was on? Did I 'imagine' being helpless to save two little girls and a sick man?" She clutched the front of her robes and gritted her teeth. "I had to go through hell on my first hunt. You don't _imagine_ things like what I saw or had to do… you just _don't_. It was all real, even though I want it to all have been a bad dream." Geralt started in surprise as tears began to fall from her eyes. "I don't… I don't want to go through all of this again! I c-can't! I don't want to be trapped here like Draven, I want to go home! I want to see my family again… god, I miss my home, the estate, the servants, all of it!"

Geralt blinked. "Wait, servants? Estate?"

Cereza opened her eyes and blinked for a moment before looking sheepish. "I-I come from a very old family. We have blood connections to the old aristocracy, and my father and uncles are men of influence in the financial world."

Geralt looked flabbergasted. "Y-you mean you're a noble!?" He sat up as if he had been sitting on something hot and bowed hurriedly. "I- I'm sorry milady, I didn't-"

 **SMACK!**

Geralt blinked. He was on his backside, his right cheek throbbed ever so slightly, and he was looking up at a downright furious Cereza. "You _idiot!_ " Cereza snarled. "If I wanted you to treat me like..! Do you _really_ think that things like status..?" Geralt's instincts were warning him to back away from the irate Hunter, but… something else was telling him to stand his ground and wait. After a few moments of allowing her to continue to splutter at him angrily Geralt climbed to his feet and bowed his head slightly.

"I'm sorry if I offended you Cereza," Geralt said, cutting her off and causing her to stare at him in surprise and curiosity. "It was wrong of me to assume that you needed to be addressed by your social rank: you are your own person, and up until now I'd been treating you as such. It's just that I was recently in the military and I was taught to respect rank and chain of command. It didn't occur to me that you deliberately left out telling me you were a noble to avoid being treated as such; please accept my apology."

Cereza could only stare at the man in wonder. "F-fine, forget it!" She finally huffed, turning away so he wouldn't see the embarrassed blush making its way to her cheeks. "J-just don't do it again! We're both Hunters, and that's all the title that matters right now!"

Geralt sighed in relief and straightened up. "Your right. I'll keep that in mind from now on." An awkward silence fell between the two Hunters, both struggling to come up with something to say to get the conversation moving again.

"...I'm not interrupting something, am I?" The two of them turned to find Draven slowly descending the stairs from the warp tombstone, his expression uncertain and just a little apprehensive.

"Um, not… not as such," Geralt managed awkwardly while scratching his chin. Draven noted his reddened cheek and glanced briefly over at Cereza but said nothing, opting to hold his tongue.

"Since the two of you are here together, I take it that… Gascoigne has been laid to rest?" Draven asked delicately. Geralt nodded glumly by way of answer, and Draven immediately took notice of the look in his eyes. He walked up to the larger Hunter and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's unpleasant work, hunting Hunters. But unlike the three of us, normal Hunters are as susceptible to the scourge of beasts as any human; some might even say that they are even more susceptible."

Geralt's eyes widened in surprise. "Are you… saying that we're immune?" Now Cereza was listening in as well, eyes alight with curiosity.

"It seems that Paleblood Hunters are, at any rate," Draven shrugged. "Aside from our number, I know of two other Hunters in Yharnam that I doubt will be succumbing to the scourge this night. One of them is Eileen, the Bloody Crow of Yharnam, and the other is Djura of the Powder Kegs, whose path we need not cross to reach our goal."

"But why us?" Cereza asked. "Why are we immune?"

Draven sighed. "I have no definite answer, only theories. My belief is that it has something to do with our bond to the Hunter's Dream: it seems to protect us from the beast within us and keeps us from falling into the Nightmare." Draven closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I can only pray that Gascoigne's soul has eluded the Nightmare that awaits Hunters who fall into beast hood." He straightened up and offered the two Hunters a small smile. "But come, let me show you something I think you will like: I seem to have at last found the precious thing that has eluded me for some time now."

Geralt and Cereza both frowned at the veteran Hunter's cryptic choice of words but followed him to the warp tombstone. "So, what were you looking for?" Cereza asked.

Draven turned and gave them both a warm and sincere smile: "Hope."

.

Cereza stood as still as a statue as tears threatened to escape from her eyes. Behind her Geralt was admiring the beautiful chapel, oblivious to her and the focus of her attention. Two little girls, both with long brunette hair, one no older than six while the other must have been twelve or thirteen. They were dressed in their nightclothes and the eldest was engaging her little sister in a game with the dolls she'd brought with them.

Cereza turned mutely to Draven, who was watching the scene with a warm and tired smile as though enraptured. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask: _'Are they his?'_ But her voice was shaky and died in her throat. Draven seemed to notice her out of the corner of his eye, and with a look of solemn understanding he nodded and mouthed _yes_.

"Oh, hello there," Geralt knelt on one knee and greeted the children when he noticed them looking at him. "Are you two here on your own?" The younger of the two hid behind her sister, peeking out at the group with big blue eyes.

"It's alright Sophie," the elder girl told her sister. "They're Hunters, like daddy." The now named Sophie looked at the group with a new sense of wonder in her eyes, though she chose to shyly remain hiding behind her sister. "I'm sorry about her, mummy and daddy taught us to never talk to strangers, and she doesn't go out very often unless they're with us." She turned back to the group with a smile. "My name's Evie by the way. Thanks for taking me and Sophie here, mister Hunter," she said to Draven.

"Think nothing of it, little one," Draven said with a tiny smile. "Just fulfilling my duties as a Hunter."

Geralt frowned in thought. "Hang on, did you say that your father is a Hunter?"

"Oh, yes!" Evie said excitedly. "He works for the Church. We haven't seen him since he left at sunset, and then mummy went out to find him." She missed the look of horrified comprehension that appeared on Geralt's face.

A gentle tugging on Evie's nightdress told her that Sophie wanted her attention. "Evie… when are mummy and daddy coming? They're coming soon, right?"

Geralt slowly stood from where he had knelt, his face pale with conflict and uncertainty.

But it was Draven who spoke, his words slow and deliberate as though he were carefully examining every syllable. "Little ones… I am very sorry, but your mother… a beast caught her."

Evie froze, her eyes wide in shock. "No…" Sophie's bottom lip began to tremble, and soon she broke down into great sobs. From across the chapel Arianna looked upon the girls in pity, and she soon surprised the Hunters by walking over and scooping the girl up in a gentle embrace, rubbing the little girl's back as she sobbed into her shoulder. Cereza was quick to join in, enveloping Evie in her arms just as her control failed her and she began to sob as well. Draven and Geralt could only watch in silent sorrow as the women comforted the little ones, offering what they themselves could not.

Eventually Evie managed to choke back a few sobs to ask, "B-b-but daddy… daddy didn't… he…"

"Your father," Draven said firmly, "was on the trail of the beast that took your mother when I crossed paths with him. He told me of his daughters, the only family he had left, and he made me swear that no matter what happened to him I'd ensure that they were kept safe. While I was escorting the two of you I sent my colleagues here to find your father and aid him in his hunt. They were able to corner the beast together and kill it, but your father took terrible wounds during the battle." Draven removed his cap and knelt down to the children's level, bowing his head so low that his lips nearly touched the floor. "I am so, _so_ sorry little ones. We did everything that we could for your father, but he succumbed to his wounds. He used his last breath to beg us to get you both out of Yharnam once the hunt ended, and make sure you both had a happy life far away from it."

Evie and Sophie's sobs were renewed, but eventually Evie managed to say, "Th-th-thank you, I-I'm glad daddy m-met you."

After some time Arianna managed to calm the girls down and sat with them as they drifted off to sleep. "Don't you worry your pretty little heads about these little ones," she told the Hunters with a smile. "I'll look after 'em while you're out there. Just make sure you come back alive, yeah? These two have lost a lot for one night: they don't need to go losing you lot too."

The group was silent as they left the chapel, no-one daring to speak until the doors closed behind them.

"What you told them," Geralt began slowly. "I normally don't abide telling lies, but…"

"What I told them was the truth, after a certain fashion," Draven replied stiffly without looking at him. "A beast _did_ in fact kill Gascoigne and his wife. He may not have asked us to protect his daughters, but I imagine that we owe him at least that much."

"I wasn't going to argue," Geralt shook his head. "I mean, how exactly could we have told them the truth? Can you imagine what that might have done to them?"

"I can," Cereza croaked, her eyes red-rimmed from shedding her own tears. "Best not to think about that." Her look of sorrow transformed into one of great joy as she smiled at Draven in front of her. "Draven, you _saved them_."

Draven was silent for a moment as he gazed at the city before them. "Yes… _We_ did." He turned to them with a triumphant smile. "We might not be able to save them all… but we can save as many as we can, which may be more than we realize. Then maybe this terrible night might not be quite so dark." He looked back at the city and squared his shoulders. "Now then, it's high time I rejoined you both on the front lines. With any luck we shall be able to make our way to our quarry at triple speed. Let us be off to Byrgenwerth: we have a long and unpleasant road ahead of us through the forest."

Geralt groaned. "I had a feeling you'd say that…"

"Wait, what about the Grand Cathedral?" Cereza asked.

Draven turned back to give her a curious look. "What about it?"

"Well don't we need to go clear it out and get the password?"

Draven frowned, ignoring Geralt's lost look. "...But we already know the password, I remember it from the last half dozen times I've been on this hunt." Truth be told, he'd always known the password even during his first hunt because his soul remembered hearing it back in its birth world. "Besides, there is nothing in the Grand Cathedral. We don't need to visit it until later."

Cereza gaped at Draven like a fish out of water. "Wha..? But..? Then what the hell do you call that… that big dog-deer beast thing?!"

Draven stopped so suddenly that Cereza and Geralt nearly ran into him. " _What_ 'big dog-deer beast thing?'"

.

"You're _sure_ someone's in there?" They were just outside the Grand Cathedral, the first light of the full moon shining down upon them as the night laid claim to Yharnam. Geralt and Cereza both had their weapons at the ready, while Draven's rapier remained sheathed at his side as he leaned his head against the doors and sent a skeptical look in Cereza's direction.

Cereza glared at the senior Hunter. "If I wasn't, do you really think I would have dragged us all the way here? I thought you'd remember fighting this thing from all of the other times you've been here previously."

"Yeah," Geralt joined the conversation, "I thought you've both been stuck hunting this same hunt over and over. If Cereza knows about this beast, then shouldn't you?"

Draven hesitated. "I… I knew the password to get to Byrgenwerth before I came to Yharnam. I don't know _how_ I knew it, but I did, so I always went straight there and never circled around to the Grand Cathedral until later on in the hunt. By then, the place was empty, save for Laurence's skull sitting at the altar."

Cereza gave him a brief look of incredulity. "That's probably because you didn't go in when you were supposed to and the beast left on its own! Who knows what it went on to do because you weren't there to kill it?"

"There's something bothering me about all of this," Geralt spoke up again. "Cereza, you and Draven both claim to have been on this hunt before, right? So why are you only just now meeting each other, and how is it that you've both done different things on the same hunt, like Draven not entering the Grand Cathedral?"

"How should I know?" Cereza huffed in annoyance. "Everything stopped making sense to me when I woke up in Iosefka's clinic after killing a Great One!"

"There have always been other Hunters in other worlds," Draven said evenly. "But those Hunters have not always been us."

Geralt and Cereza both gave him a weirded-out look. "Oookay, and that means what exactly?" Geralt asked.

"Only that anyone who came to Yharnam on this night of the hunt could have become the Paleblood Hunter meant to end it," Draven clarified. "In one world it was me, in another world it was Cereza. And in yet another world Geralt, that Hunter is you."

"Okay, you've lost me," Cereza shook her head. "Other worlds? What are you..?"

"Have you never used a Beckoning Bell to summon the aid of another Hunter?" Draven asked, turning to look at her with a serious expression. "Haven't you called in other Hunters to help you after dying over and over again at the hands of a particularly powerful beast? Did you never wonder who those Hunters were, or where they came from?"

"Beckoning Bell?" Geralt asked.

"It's an artifact that lets you call a ghostly Hunter to help you," Cereza explained, her expression growing thoughtful. "They can't talk to you and they look like see-through silhouettes, like ghosts. But they can fight beasts and help you out, and afterwards they just vanish." She turned her gaze to Draven. "I'd always thought that they were dead Hunters or something, but you think that they were Hunters from other worlds?"

"And somehow, it's as if an incredibly powerful Beckoning Bell has been used to bring the three of us together," Draven nodded. "At least, that's my current theory. I don't have any concrete evidence to support this, but given that we have no other rational explanations at this time it makes sense."

"...I guess," Geralt finally conceded with a shrug. "I really don't get any of this, and I'm not sure I can believe the notion that there are other worlds like this one. The only thing that I can really believe right now, with any degree of certainty, is that we're Hunters, and we have to do something to stop all of this senseless death." He finished with a firm nod and shouldered his great sword, eyes shining with determination.

Draven smiled. _So the soldier has found his resolve, eh?_ "Well said, Geralt." He returned his attention to the door and placed an ear against it, eyes nearly closed in concentration. "You're _sure_ that there's a beast in there, Cereza?"

"Oh bloody hell - for the last time: _yes!_ " Cereza growled. "Can we please _not_ go back and forth over this?!"

"I only ask because… I don't hear a beast in there," Draven said slowly, causing the younger Hunters to frown. "But I do hear _something_ …" He lapsed into silence for a moment as he strained to listen. "...A voice, faint but… definitely human." Draven's eyes snapped open, a look of horror on his face. "She's… she's praying for death!"

.

She nearly screamed when the doors were flung open with a boom, fearing that she was about to be set upon by a pack of vicious beasts. She whirled around and beheld three figures running into the cathedral, and for a moment she imagined that they were citizens crazed with blood lust here to kill her for her connection to the Healing Church. But then she took in the distinctive tricorn cap that two of them wore, and her heart leapt as she realized what they were: Hunters, at last.

One of them stepped forward while the other two stopped halfway between the door and where she sat, the twin tails of a deep red scarf trailing after him like the cape that many Hunters wore. He was garbed in sleek but sturdy looking armor made up of tough leather and metal plating, and an elegant rapier hung at his hip. She assumed that he must have been the leader of the hunting party, as he moved with a certain confident and purposeful stride that spoke of many years of experience. But her fear returned when she found that the sight of this Hunter awoke a certain… _hunger_ deep inside of her.

"Are you alright?" The lead Hunter called out as she clasped her amulet and once again began to pray, silently begging him to kill her quickly before it happened again. "...Girl? Can you hear me?"

 _Girl?_ She was so surprised by his informal and boorish address that she actually stopped praying to admonish him. " _'Girl?'_ Do I look like a mere 'girl' to you? I am a _Vicar_ , don't you recognize me?!" She immediately regretted her outburst, as her anger and indignation gave the… _other_ a new opening in her defenses to exploit.

The largest of the three Hunters turned to his female companion and sent her a look of confusion, which she returned with a shrug, her focus never leaving the Vicar. She knew that look: the Hunter was waiting, waiting for her to turn. Waiting to strike, to pounce.

 _Pounce first…_ The Vicar squeezed her eyes shut trying to block out the voices. _Tear their flesh, gnaw their bones…_

"We are not Hunters of the Healing Church." The lead Hunter responded. If he had been offended by her earlier outburst his voice did not show it. "I am Draven Jaeger. This is Geralt of Riverton and Cereza; we are the Palebloods. You need not pray for death anymore: we have found Odeon Chapel to be safe, and we can escort you…"

"No…" Tears began to fall from her eyes as the ache began in her bones. Her blood burned and sang, calling out for the blood of these three Hunters. The night was calling to her, beckoning her to accept its sweet embrace and join the hunt. "Y-y-you can't s-save me… p-p-please..!" She let out a harsh scream as her bones began to crack sickeningly, the pain more pronounced now than any other time she had turned. "PL-PLEASE!" She screamed, struggling to reach her own throat with the claws sprouting from her fingertips. "KILL ME!"

"..or god's sake Draven, she _wants_ us to kill her!" She could dimly hear the female Hunter arguing with the one called Draven. "Get out of the way…"

She moaned as her form shook and spasmed, her bones cracking sharply as her limbs began to warp. She was losing the struggle to retain control, her will to end her life and escape the madness slowly being overwritten by the all-consuming hunger.

"...your name?!" A voice… the lead Hunter again, the one called Draven… "STAY WITH ME! LOOK AT ME. _LOOK AT ME!_ " She found herself obeying in spite of herself, and when she did… His eyes were like twin lightning bolts captured and bent into two perfect rings of blue, blazing with madness, desperation and determination. "WHAT IS YOUR NAME? _ANSWER ME! WHAT IS YOUR NAME?!_ "

Something about his voice… the look in his eyes… it stopped her from trying to raise her claws to her throat and granted her a single moment of control before she ceased to be. "A...Ame...Amelia…"

"I'M GOING TO SAVE YOU AMELIA, I SWEAR IT!" She screamed again, loud and shrill as the pain and heat redoubled, bones snapping, muscles bulging as she grew and grew, his oath her last coherent memory as she succumbed one last time...

.

Cereza gaped open-mouthed at Draven's back as the Vicar's grotesque form finally stopped growing. _Save her? How the sodding hell does he think he's going to do_ _ **that?**_ _She's a bloody beast now! She wanted to die dammit all!_ "Draven we can't save them all: _you know that!_ You said so yourself! How do you think you're going to save _that?_ "

Draven turned, and the intensity of his glare was such that both Cereza and Geralt flinched as if he had been about to attack them. " _Her_. Not _that_ : _her_." Draven turned back to the creature… to _Amelia_ he corrected himself, and began to size her up. Her form was somewhat similar to the Cleric Beast, only far more slender and… _Elegant,_ he thought to himself. Long wisps of silvery white fur grew from her body, and she had a head and clawed paws like a dog. _No, not like a dog,_ he realized, _a wolf. She looks like a wolf…_ True she had horns like a deer sprouting from her head, but other than that he would have said that he structure was based entirely on the body of a wolf. The vestments she had been wearing had miraculously survived her transformation and now seemed to serve as a sort of blindfold, but he knew instinctively that she could track their every movement. His eyes moved to her left paw, which she was clutching to her chest. He could just make out an object… she'd been holding something before, an amulet or a necklace of some kind. Now it seemed that even in beasthood she was clinging to it as if her life depended upon it.

"Geralt get ready: it's about to get its bearings!" Draven tensed at the sound of Cereza' s voice, and he felt his anger return and was about to turn around to snap at her.

' _How do you think you're going to save_ that? _'_ Draven froze, the weight of indecision and hopelessness rooting him in place. _How do I save her? Why did I say that? It was different with Gascoigne's daughters, they're human. She… Amelia…_ He looked back at her. She was facing their direction now and growling threateningly, hind legs poised to leap at them should they approach. There was no longer anything remotely human about her and yet… _There's something different. She doesn't look like any other beast I've ever seen. Something about her seems… pure, purposeful, almost like that form is natural. If it weren't for her horns and the length of her limbs she'd be a giant wolf._ He'd always felt a certain fondness for wolves: that there was something about them that was noble and beautiful. They hunted in packs, lived in families and even had what might pass for rules or laws, not to mention their intelligence. He knew not why he had promised the Vicar that he would save her, but he knew that he could not raise his blade against her. _What… what do I do?_

Suddenly Amelia froze, still as a statue. Draven blinked in surprise at this development: not even the many wisps of fur trailing her body were moving. He turned to ask Cereza if she had any notion as to what was happening… only to find both her and Geralt frozen. Cereza was frozen mid-step as she made to run past Draven, threaded cane held at the ready while she eyed Amelia warily. Geralt was immobilized a step behind her, his great sword held in both hands and propped against his shoulder with his face frozen in a grimace.

"What in the world..?" Draven muttered as he turned back to Amelia. Draven blinked in surprise: there was now a small blue butterfly fluttering about Amelia, the only thing save for Draven that still possessed the power to move. The world was eerily silent, and Draven knew the reason for this was that somehow, some way, time had stopped.

" _You wish to save her?"_ Draven blinked. That voice… where was it coming from? _"Even though she has become a beast, you believe that she can be saved? And what would you be willing to do to save her? What would you be willing to sacrifice if it meant achieving this?"_

Draven bowed his head in thought. _Is this the work of a Great One? They are said to be sympathetic by nature… is this just one of them responding to my desire to save..?_ Draven blinked. _The Great Ones… Rom… Rom wasn't always a Great One, she was a human who…_ "Lined her brain with eyes…" Draven whispered as it came to him. He reached slowly into one of his pouches and pulled out a long, thin object. Somehow, though Draven knew not how, he was certain that the butterfly smiled at him.

Like a wave impacting upon a beach sound came crashing back into Draven's world, and with it time began to move once again. Hearing the rapid footfalls of his comrades nearing him Draven tightened his grip on the object in his hand and drew his rapier, his shoulders squared defiantly.

As she passed Draven Cereza noticed the sudden change in his demeanor and turned her head for a better look. Her eyes landed on the object in his off-hand: a cord. _A cord lined with eyes_. Cereza' s eyes widened in horror. "Draven no!"

Draven vanished from sight in an explosion of movement, reappearing just a short distance from Amelia as he skidded to a halt, his rapier coming up to deftly swat the side of Amelia's claws to turn her blow just enough to miss him and impact the floor.

"Draven, stop!" Cereza cried out. "Whatever you're thinking, don't! We both know what happens when humans try to match the Great Ones!"

"What's wrong?!" Geralt asked as they both doubled their pace, "What's he doing? That thing in his hand, is it..?"

"It's the sort of thing that makes nightmares like this hunt occur!" Cereza exclaimed as Draven nimbly back-stepped away from another of Amelia's attacks and began to run up her arm in an incredible display of agility and grace. "Byrgenwerth and the Church both tried to use one of those umbilical cords to turn a human into a new Great One, but it backfired horribly and created monsters!"

Geralt's eyes widened as Draven reached Amelia's shoulder, spittle flying from her maw as she snarled and attempted to bite him, only for the Hunter to wrap his arms around her jaws and hold on tightly, preventing her from trapping him between them as she struggled to free herself. "But, he knows that, right? If he knows what it does to humans, then why the hell would he try to use one on a beast?"

"EYES!" Draven suddenly screamed, catching the attention of the two Hunters. "That was what Master Willem thought was missing, a way to line the brain with eyes to see like a Great One!" He grunted as Amelia began to shake her head violently in an attempt to dislodge him, flailing him about like a rag doll. "He was so close! So close but he couldn't realize that it wasn't eyes exactly, but Insight! Without Insight we can never hope to comprehend the Great Ones! Without the old blood, we can never hope to match their strength! But with the old blood, we humans didn't have enough Insight, so we started to become beasts! BUT! If we had both..!"

"Draven, stop this!" Cereza shouted. "This is insane! We can't save her, she's too far gone!"

"The only decent thing we do for her now is give her a quick and clean death!" Geralt agreed as he and Cereza circled the two of them. "I know it's hard, but we can't save them all, and the price for saving her might be too steep! What if this fails and she turns into an even worse monster than before? What if-"

"NO!" Draven snarled. "THIS WILL WORK! I KNOW IT!" He quickly used the pointed steel tips of one of his gauntlets to dig into Amelia's face deep enough to draw blood while loosening his grip on her jaws just slightly. He was rewarded when Amelia opened her jaws and howled in pain, just long enough for Draven to let go and fling the umbilical cord…

A great flash of icy blue light erupted within the cathedral, forcing Geralt and Cereza to shield their eyes.

"God… dammed… maniac!" Cereza cursed as she blinked her eyes furiously to chase the spots from her vision. "I don't care how tough he thinks he is: I'm going to kill him ten… no, _thirty_ times in a row for this stupidity!"

"Cereza…" came Geralt' s voice. "Cereza he's… you have to see this…"

"See _what?_ I'll be lucky not to have vision damage after that buggering..!" She fell silent when her vision finally returned. "Wha..? What the… bloody hell..?"

Amelia's monstrous form was lying on all fours before them, head bowed so low that her antlers nearly touched the floor. On the floor beneath her upper torso a tiny medallion of gold had fallen to the ground, and kneeling before her head was Draven, his head also bowed as he faced away from the two Hunters. Neither beast nor Hunter was moving; Cereza wasn't sure if they were even _breathing_.

"Draven?" Cereza asked as she cautiously walked closer. "Draven, what the sodding gods did you just..?" She gasped in pain as she slammed right into some sort of invisible wall and staggered back, hissing and rubbing her nose as Geralt ran up behind her.

"Cereza, what's wrong?"

"Ugh, dammit, it's like I just walked into a brick wall!"

Geralt frowned and slowly stepped forward, one hand held out experimentally until he stopped, seemingly pressing it against something. "What on earth?" He took a step back and readied his great sword while sending Cereza a look. Getting the message she stepped clear, and with a great bellow Geralt delivered a crushing lunge. There was a hollow ringing sound as Geralt and his sword bounced back, the force of deflected blow sending Geralt crashing onto his rear. "Well," Geralt muttered dryly. "I had a feeling that wouldn't work, but at least I can say I tried." He climbed to his feet and looked at the silent duo. "What do you suppose is happening in there?"

Cereza narrowed her eyes. She could just make out some sort of pale shadowy particles flowing around Draven and Amelia. They reminded her of the substance that the Messengers gave off and were a match for the fog that surrounded lamps linked to the Hunter's Dream. "I don't know. There was one time during my last hunt where I actually entered the nightmare of a madman who was trying to make contact with a Great One. I think that this is similar to that somehow."

Geralt' s eyes widened a little. "So you think… that Draven is inside of her mind?"

Cereza shrugged and shook her head. "Maybe. Honestly, what that idiot did has never been done before, so I have no bleeding idea what the nobs is going on."

"Well, that makes me feel a bit better," Geralt remarked dryly. "I was starting to feel like an uneducated brute over here." Cereza couldn't help but chuckle a little at that, which made Geralt smile as way before his expression grew serious once again. "I guess… there's nothing we can do for now but sit here and wait."

"Well, I suppose we might as well get comfy," Cereza sighed as she sat down near Geralt. "It looks like whatever madness Draven's got himself into, he's on his own."

.

He slowly stood from where he had been kneeling. Before him was the smoldering remains of a small fire, a rusted sword sticking straight up out of the middle. Glancing around he found himself within a dark and dense woods of some sort, not a soul to be found. "Alright, that's step one done," Draven muttered to himself uncertainly. "Now what?"

 **.**

 **BONFIRE LIT**

 **(Just kidding, calm down ;) ) Please review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: This chapter is a big one, in more ways than one...**

 **Bloodborne: Blood of the Wolf**

 **Fourth Moon: Stare Long Into the Abyss…**

She shivered; bitter rain was falling through the canopy, augmenting the frigid fog that clung to the ground. She shook herself all over briefly in an effort to dry off a little and pressed on, nose to the ground. She was close… very close. She needed to be quick: _he_ was almost here.

.

Draven hastily clutched the lower branches of the nearest tree as his legs suddenly gave way beneath him. He groaned and fought against the urge to vomit as his head swam and the unpleasant feeling of something cold crawling around in his gut swept through him.

"Dammit…" he groaned in pain. "Not now… I've just started changing things! Please… Just a little longer." When the pain and nausea finally passed Draven sat still against the tree for a while to recover, drops of rain falling from the branches above him and soothing him when they landed on his exposed face. For so long the only rain he'd known had been of blood; feeling the real thing again after all this time was almost rapturous to the Hunter.

Eventually Draven felt his strength return to him and forced himself to stand, and a few moments later, he was able to force himself to walk forward as well.

The woods that the Hunter now found himself in seemed to stretch on indefinitely, densely packed trees of pine and birch forming impassible walls while their intertwining branches formed a leaky roof over his head. Scarcely any light made it through the canopy, and through the gaps in the leaves and pine needles the sky was overcast and gray with rain. It was cold as well: a thick and clawing fog swirled around Draven's legs as he picked his way through the thinner parts of the forest in search of a path. To Draven, it was a convincing illusion of a real forest, but it lacked one thing, and that one missing component revealed the nature of the fabrication: movement. Or rather, the lack thereof.

Within the branches, no birds stirred. Across the forest floor, no small animals foraged for food. The thick carpet of fallen leaves and pine needles beneath Draven's boots turned up no flies, no ants, and no worms. Aside from the branches shivering from the impact of the rain and Draven's cautious footsteps, not a single living thing moved. It set Draven on high alert, for such silence in the middle of a forest could not possibly be natural. Still he walked on for what could have been minutes or entire hours, searching for any sign that he was not alone.

Eventually he came upon a gap in the trees, and through it he could see that he was resting upon a cliffside in a mountain range, with the forest continuing just ahead. But from the top of the cliff he saw in the distance what looked to be a small cottage, a warm light glowing in the window while smoke wafted from the chimney. Just as Draven was about to consider trying to scale the cliff and head for the cottage, he caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. He whirled around and drew his rapier… only to relax at the sight of a single white butterfly fluttering to and fro where the forest path continued. Draven frowned and sheathed his weapon before cautiously stepping closer to the carefree creature, ready to suspect anything and everything in this place. As soon as he was close enough to reach out and touch the butterfly Draven found his vision clouding up, the fog around him swirling higher until his sight was completely obscured.

 _"Grandpa, grandpa! Will you tell me a story tonight?"_ Draven started at the sound of the voice. It was a little girl, maybe no more than five or so, but he couldn't see anyone and the voice seemed to come from all around as the fog continued to blind him. He tried to grope his way through before remembering the cliffside that he had been standing nearby. Not wanting to accidentally blunder his way off of the mountainside, he forced himself to remain still as a new voice, that of an older woman, spoke up.

 _"Amelia my darling, leave grandfather alone! It's been a long day and he needs to rest."_

 _"But mama…"_

The voice of an elderly man chuckled warmly. _"Now now Anne, one story won't hurt. Now my little one, what story would you like to hear tonight? Hmm..? Ah, I see you've noticed my old medallion."_

 _"It's very pretty grandpa. Where did you get it?"_

 _"My father gave it to me, your great grandpa. And his father gave it to him before me, and his father, and so on. It's been in our family for many generations, and was given to us by the last of an old order of knights."_

 _"Really?"_ Draven could not help the smile that crept to his face at the tone of wonder in the child's voice: he could just picture her eyes shining bright in amazement. _"Who were they grandpa?"_

 _"Ah, that's quite a story… perhaps we'll make that our story for tonight little one. Well, it all began a long, long time ago, back in the time when kings ruled the land and knights were brave and noble champions of justice. A good king who ruled his kingdom with a just and fair hand had four great knights who helped him defend his land from evil, and he sent the-"_ A great fit of coughing abruptly cut off the man's narrative, and Draven frowned at the deep throated gasps that must have wracked his frame. He heard the child's mother ushering her out of the room against the child's protests to hear the rest of the story.

 _"Gah… I'm sorry, Amelia,"_ the old man wheezed. _"Perhaps… perhaps we'll finish the story another night. Here, you hold onto old grandfather's medallion for me. You can give it back to me after I finish telling you the story, okay?"_

The fog swirled and lifted as the voices faded, and Draven found himself in a different part of the woods. "What was that?" The Hunter asked himself. "A memory?" He frowned and bowed his head in thought. "That was Amelia as a child… she lived with her mother and grandfather. She was holding a medallion or amulet of some sort in the chapel… was that the same one that her grandfather gave her?" Draven blinked when he felt a gentle heat from by his foot. Looking down, he found himself standing next to the smoldering remains of a fire, a rusted sword sticking up from within the kindling. "What..? Am I back where I started?!" Snarling, Draven strode off into the woods, his pace quicker than before as he plunged through the trees.

After a few minutes Draven found himself in a small clearing littered with tree stumps. Something about the air seemed foul and put Draven in mind of Yharnam, but what caught his attention was another butterfly hovering just before the next stretch of trees. However, unlike the first butterfly this one was black, and Draven had a shrewd suspicion that the color was significant somehow. Nevertheless Draven staunchly approached the winged insect, and just as he was reaching out to try and grab it his vision was swallowed up by mist.

" _Mummy… why did grandpa die?"_ There was a long stretch of silence broken only by sobs, and Draven felt his heart sink, his frustration cooled.

 _"Grandpa… grandpa was s-sick my love,"_ the voice of Anne answered her daughter. _"He was very very sick."_

 _"B-but then why didn't he take medicine? Taking m-medicine makes you better when you get sick, doesn't it?"_

 _"Oh Amelia…"_ For several long moments all Draven could hear was the sound of mother and daughter crying together, and he bowed his head in shame, feeling as though he was an intruder.

Just before the fog lifted again Draven heard little Amelia's voice. _"G-g_ - _grandpa, I'm s-sorry we didn't h-have medicine to make you b-b-better. I p-p-promise, you d-don't have to tell me th-that story anymore, just please: come back…"_

Any anger Draven would have felt at once again being deposited right back at his starting position was crushed. "These are definitely her memories," he muttered as he set off through the woods at a more sedate pace. "So I must be inside her mind… or a nightmare. If I can find her here, can I bring her back..?"

The Hunter was startled from his thoughts when he found that he was already in a clearing once again; this time he was on a cliff overlooking a small village, and a white butterfly was waiting for him. Recovering from his surprise, Draven made his way over to the butterfly and stretched out his hand, almost welcoming the fog that embraced him.

 _"Amelia dear, why do you want to be a doctor? You could be so many things: what about those glass necklaces you're always making? That woman from the other day was so polite when you sold it to her, and she payed you quite a lot. She said you have a good eye for jewelry, and I heard some of my friends say that she was once a famous jeweler. If we're polite, I'm sure she'd take you on as-"_

 _"Jewelry can't make sick people healthy, mom,"_ came Amelia's reply, and it was apparent from her voice that quite some time had passed between now and the last memory Draven had witnessed. _"Jewelry doesn't do anything useful: it's all just string and pretty baubles."_

 _"But Amelia, your grandfather loved the jewelry you used to make him: it made him so happy. And what about all of your friends who gave you that nice chain for your medallion as a thank you for the bracelets you made them?"_

 _"I've made up my mind! I want to be able to do something_ useful _that can actually help people! I'm not going to waste my time making silly little trinkets!"_

 _"Amelia…"_

Draven frowned as the fog once again deposited him near the smoldering fire. "Why do I keep ending up back here? What do I need to do to proceed?" He frowned in frustration. "Damn, I'm losing time! Every minute I waste here gives Geralt and Cereza another opportunity to finish her off in the real world! I need to find her _now!_ " He took off into the woods once more, this time muscling his way between trees and trying to deviate from the path laid before him. Several tense minutes passed with him wondering if he had gotten lost, but then he turned around and found himself once again in a clearing, this time with the ruins of three tombstones standing in the middle and a black butterfly waiting for him. Draven frowned; he was torn between curiosity as to who the graves were for and the urgency to find Amelia before it was too late. "This better not be leading me in circles," he muttered darkly as he marched up to the black butterfly.

 _"What do you want?"_ Draven blinked through the fog. That was Amelia's voice: she sounded like the woman he had met in the chapel, only her voice was stronger, laced with anger even.

 _"I saw the service in the village, and I'm sorry for your loss."_ Draven frowned. A man's voice… something about it sounded familiar…

 _"My mother and my grandfather both died of illness, as did my father after he was called away to the army,"_ Amelia's voice was full of bitterness and anger. _"So for all we know, I have it too and you should keep your distance: everyone else in the village has already figured it out. No way they'll come to a doctor that might have an incurable disease."_

There was a pause. Then the man chuckled softly. _"Have no fear; no sickness can destroy me, for my colleagues and I have discovered the cure to all maladies."_

" _What? You… you're lying! Get out!"_

" _All it takes is a little… blood."_

Draven's eyes went wide: he _did_ know that voice! "Laurence…" Draven snarled. "So it was you who enticed her into joining the Healing Church. You monster, preying off the hopelessness and desperation of a woman who lost everything and everyone she cared about! How could you?!" He let out a most animal-like snarl when he saw that he was- yet again- standing next to a small fire with a sword sticking out of it. "I don't have time for this!" Draven growled as he charged into the forest once more. _"Let me through!"_

He reached the next clearing in record time, idly noting that he was standing before a small ruined church. He didn't even look for the butterfly, instead turning around and proceeding back the way he came, hoping to find that he was supposed to avoid the clearings when they appeared. Suddenly a black butterfly flew up right in front of his face, startling the Hunter and causing him to step back and draw his sword. But the butterfly was already gone, and the fog was rolling in as Draven howled in rage and began to swipe at the mist in frenzy, almost missing the sound of the voices.

 _"You've done well to rise all the way to Vicar in only two years."_ Laurence's voice; the sound of it only served to fuel Draven's rage as he blindly cast about the fog for an exit.

 _"The gods are gracious to those who serve them faithfully."_ Amelia. Draven was almost sickened by the blind devotion and conviction in her voice.

 _"Yes, you have served faithfully indeed. Even with all of the rumors circulating of our Church, and of the deeds of our enforcers."_

 _"Those who turn from the gods' ways are punished with beast hood,"_ Amelia responded automatically as though reciting from scripture.

 _"Yes… And that is why I think you are ready to take your service to us- to the gods- a step further…"_

A pause. _"What do you mean?"_

 _"I have prepared a new batch of our special blood. Our Clerics believe that it may be the catalyst of true transcendence. Finally, we may be ready to join the gods themselves, but first we must be sure…"_

 _"What is it that I must do?"_

The fog faded. Draven's anger was blinding now, his grip on his weapon so tight that the bones in his fingers screamed in protest. Without so much as a backwards glance at the small bonfire he charged off into the woods with a feral snarl, trees racing past him as he accelerated to his fullest speed, the world collapsing into a blur of grey and black. In the back of his mind, a tiny voice struggled to be heard of the roars of anger, to tell him that something about that tiny fire was very, _very_ familiar.

At last Draven found that the trees were beginning to thin, and soon he found himself sheathing his blade as he stood before a large wood and metal wrought door. The structure that it stood as entrance to seemed to be a large wall-like structure made of old moss eaten stones and masonry, stretching off into the distance before once again vanishing into the fog. Judging from the way the wall seemed to curve the further away it got from the door, Draven guessed that it must have been some sort of circular building like a colosseum or an arena of sorts.

The structure itself seemed plain compared to the door leading into it: within the paneling of the wood there was a myriad of carvings that seemed to tell a story. Examining the faded etchings, Draven made out the figure of a large knight clad in silvery armor, a cape, and a sort of pointed helm that shrouded his face. Something about the knight made a distant memory of Draven's stir, but he could not remember it with any clarity. The knight carried with him an immense great sword and was pictured standing next to a large animal that walked on four legs, but the creature's visage was too eroded by time for Draven to make it out. The knight and his companion stood before some sort of gaping space that oozed smoke and black tendrils. The next scene showed the knight within the dark space, his sword raised as if in battle while his animal companion looked on from outside. The next several panels were so time ravaged that Draven could make no sense of them, but the next clear picture showed an order of smaller knights garbed similarly to the first as they stood before a great gate that the dark space waited behind. In the following scenes the knights began to die one by one due to some reason that was not explained by the mural, until at last there was only one knight left, now kneeling before a giant great sword stuck fast in the ground before the gate.

Draven shivered as a sense of foreboding ran through him, along with the feeling that the story the door told was eerily familiar. The chill helped to clear his mind of the rage, but it remained near the forefront of his consciousness, waiting to blaze forth anew. He was just about to consider looking for a way around the mysterious structure when a cry pierced the stillness of the forest: it was the scream of a woman terrified for her life and enduring horrible pain, and it was coming from beyond the doorway. Without sparing a second thought to his previous misgivings Draven placed his hands against the door and pushed, slowly forcing the doors to swing inwards and admit him.

He emerged within a misty courtyard, in what might have once been an arena ages ago. The low stone seats were overcome with vegetation, rocks and weeds littered the central pit, and in the back there was another set of doors, more like a gate really, barred shut and wrapped in enormous chains.

But that was not what caught the Hunter's eye right away. Standing in the middle of the arena, buried half to its hilt in the ground, was a massive great sword, one that no normal man could ever hope to lift. The design of the sword left no doubt in Draven's mind that it was identical to the one shown in the mural he had just viewed. And littering the ground all around it was a great pile of corpses. Each and every one of the bodies was garbed in the same robes, pointed hat and silver armor as the order of knights in the carvings on the door, and lying next to each body was a great sword and a smaller dagger.

And it was all familiar. He didn't know how, but something about it all was terribly familiar to the Hunter. However this was pushed to the back of Draven's mind when he spied a small cage built into the side of one of the walls. The door was wrought of rusted iron bars, and through it Draven could just make out a tiny form shivering on the floor. His pulse quickened as he moved closer for a better look. Curled up in a dirt stained wolf skin pelt was a little girl, her long platinum blond hair crusted with dirt and her limbs boney from lack of food. She was shaking from the cold as she pulled the pelt more tightly around her tiny body, and soft sobs could be heard from her.

"Amelia?" The girl stiffened when Draven spoke, and she slowly turned his way. Her eyes were an impossibly bright shade of green like fresh leaves in spring time, and her face though smeared with dirt was very pretty, like a child princess seen only in a fairy tale book. A smile of triumph grew upon Draven's face. "Amelia, it's me: Draven! I'm here to save..!"

"N-n-no!" She screamed as he walked closer. "S-stay away from me!" She frantically crawled backwards into the cell until her back was pressed against the wall, her eyes wide with fear.

It was the fear in her eyes that pinned Draven in place. "Amelia? What's wrong?"

.

He was a bad Hunter. A very, very _bad_ Hunter! He looked like a man, but he was covered in blood head to toe! Black blood, red blood, old crusted blood, it was everywhere! His clothing dripped with it, his hair was so matted with it that she couldn't tell what color it was supposed to be!

"H-H-HELP!" Amelia screamed. "HELP, MONSTER! SOMEONE HEEELP!"

Something moved behind the bad Hunter, and Amelia's heart leapt: the knights were here! They were here to save her from the bad Hunter!

.

A whisper of movement behind him saw Draven spinning around. Very slowly, one of the corpses stood up and looked over at Draven. He felt his pulse quicken as he automatically drew his rapier, and as soon as he did the knight reached down and retrieved a great sword and dagger from where it lay. The knight held his great sword in his right hand and pointed the tip straight out at Draven while holding the dagger in a reverse-grip in his other hand and crossing his left arm over his right arm in a battle stance. His face could not be seen beneath his slightly pointed hat, but Draven could feel the knight's glare as he readied his pistol in his left hand.

"I've crossed worlds and dared to defy the powers that be to rescue her," Draven shouted at the knight. "YOU WILL _NOT_ STOP ME!" Roaring a battle cry Draven charged, eyes blazing with mania and determination. The knight nimbly rolled away from his opening thrust and came up behind him, spinning his whole body and dragging his great sword along the ground. Draven dodged the sweeping swipe, but was caught when the knight immediately reversed directions and swung again, catching Draven across the chest and knocking him several paces back.

"Your fast," Draven winced. The blow hadn't been devastating, but even with the inhuman vitality and durability granted by the long hunt Draven had to admit the knight dealt a powerful blow. He noticed the knight tense up with his sword on the ground behind him, and an instant later the knight hurled himself into the air in an axe-chop maneuver, his momentum carrying him to Draven's position in an attempt to split him in two. Draven waited until the last moment before nimbly sidestepping, the impact of the knight's sword kicking up dust. Wasting no time Draven spun to the knight and stabbed his sword deep into his side, earning himself a sharp cry of pain from the knight and a spray of blood when he yanked his blade free and rolled away an instant later.

Draven frowned grimly. As a Hunter he was blessed with the supernatural skill of knowing his prey's exact life-force, a talent that told him how effective his blows were and how much he needed to bleed his foes before they died. His blow had done considerable damage to the knight, and he was nearly on his last legs. "It can't be that easy," Draven muttered as the knight recovered and the two began to circle each other warily.

The knight crouched, causing Draven to tense up, and then he lunged forward with his sword raised for a vertical slash. Draven rolled to avoid it, but then the knight brought forth his dagger and stabbed Draven in the shoulder with it, causing him to cry out in pain before the knight followed up with alternating swipes from broadsword and dagger, pausing for a brief moment before executing a tight spinning slash that tore Draven up and sent him back. Draven snarled and leapt to his feet before rolling away, consuming a Blood Vial to mend the damage he had been dealt.

"You're rather like a Hunter," Draven growled. "But I've faced worse than you on the Nightmare Frontier. Do you hear me, monster?! I've faced worse than the likes of you, and I will not let you stop me!" He readied himself as the knight once again approached, and this time when the knight crouched in preparation to lunge at him Draven fired a few shots from his pistol, forcing the knight to roll back out of his range. Pressing the advantage Draven dashed at top speed, vanishing briefly from sight before seeming to reappear a mere foot from the knight's left flank. The knight soon took notice of Draven and once again made to stab with his knife, only for Draven to bring up his rapier and bat the blade aside, forcing the knight's stance wide open as Draven executed a stab, then another, then another, until he had struck six times in rapid succession, the knight's blood spraying Draven red.

With a pained cry the knight sank to his knees, slowly toppling over and lying still. Draven let out a sigh of relief and sheathed his blade, turning back to the child's prison.

Draven blinked. Before his eyes, two more corpse knights were rising to their feet. As one they notice him and gathered their weapons, taking the same stance as the first as Draven hastily drew his weapon once again. The fight became more difficult as Draven was forced to keep track of two highly skilled and swift combatants. Fortunately he'd had to fight multiple Hunters at once before, and he was memorizing the patterns in their attacks, learning to read their movements and finding openings to exploit. He nearly had to use another Blood Vial to heal, but he managed to injure one and kill the other, allowing him to focus on the injured knight.

 _There are no lamps here, so if I die here I may not be able to return, and then I'll lose my chance to save Amelia,_ Draven thought grimly. _No matter what happens, I must win!_ Draven blinked: two more knights were rising up as the injured one continued to circle him. His shoulders sagged. _This is getting ridiculous._ "How many bodies are you going to throw at me?!" Draven demanded. The sound of the knight's boots against the ground as they circled him was the only answer. "Fine," Draven growled as he adopted a lower stance, rapier held at the ready to parry, slash or stab in equal measure. "Come at me all at once if you think you have a prayer! I don't care how many of you there are: _**I'll kill you all!**_ "

.

Amelia sobbed quietly. She wanted to look away. She wanted to face the other way, cover her ears against the screams and squeeze her eyes shut. But she couldn't. The good knights were fighting the bad Hunter in groups of four now, working together and attacking at different times or all together at once. But it still wasn't enough: the bad Hunter shot them, stabbed them, slashed them, knocked them away and dodged their swords and knives. He killed them and killed them and killed them, bathing in their blood and never seeming to tire. And now… now the bad thing behind the gate was waking up. She could hear it creeping behind the gate, rattling the chains, wanting to be let out, to eat her… She started to pray. She couldn't remember who she was supposed to pray to, so she prayed to her grandpa. "Please grandpa… please, let the good knights win. Don't let the bad Hunter get me…" she whimpered and closed her eyes as the bad Hunter killed two knights with one swipe of his icy sword. _"Don't let the bad thing eat me…"_

.

Like an automaton Draven stiffly pulled his blade from a fresh corpse, and noted that no more knights were rising to challenge him. "Well?!" Draven bellowed defiantly. "Is that all? Come on! Get up and fight me!"

Movement in the corner of his vision. Draven spun around with his sword arm drawn back for a lunge… but there was no-one there. Blinking, Draven narrowed his eyes in suspicion and searched for the movement he'd glimpsed, convinced that the knights were just waiting for him to lower his guard before they all sprang up and attacked as one. Then he noticed the giant sword sticking up out of the ground... and he went as still as a statue: there, reflected in the blade, was himself. He was covered in rivulets of blood, his visage smeared crimson and many other sinister shades of red. He looked down at his sword, the beautiful blue blade now crusted with congealed blood. His crimson scarf was stained with dark red streaks, his armor plates were scarlet and dripping. And the _smell_. Draven sank to his knees, his sword clattering to the ground as his stomach heaved and he retched. _Blood._ He was vomiting _blood_.

A sound reached his ears as he finally got his stomach under control. Raising his head, he realized what it was: laughter. Cruel and humorless, scoffing and condescending. He slowly looked around for the source, but it echoed about the arena and made itself nearly impossible to pinpoint. His gaze was drawn back to the sword, and what he saw made his leap back to his feet and snatch up his sword: while he had been on his hands and knees, his reflection had remained standing, and now… it was laughing at him. The hairs on the back of Draven's neck stood on end: he sensed that something was acutely and profoundly wrong in this place.

And then it left the blade. Draven snapped into a combat stance as his reflection stepped forth and left the surface of the giant sword, its appearance turning black and red as inky shadowy tendrils curled around it. It smirked at Draven, eyes red and burning like coals as Draven stared back at it warily. It kept on walking closer even as Draven readied to strike, its expression remaining cruel and pitiless. Once it was close enough Draven took a swipe at it, only for it to dissolve into a cloud of shadowy and reform behind him as Draven spun to face it. It walked a few feet away from Draven and towards the great gate, turning to fix Draven with its baleful smile. They stood there for a few moments in silence, and for the first time in a very, very long time, Draven did something he'd once done quite often:

He prayed. "Heavens above… save this poor fool from himself." As if in response Draven's double drew it's gun, causing him to tense up ready for a fight. A shot rang out, and Draven could only blink incomprehensibly. Without looking, his double had aimed behind itself, and shot the chains holding the gate. Said chains began to rapidly rust before Draven's eyes, finally shattering and snapping, falling away to allow the gates to slowly and ominously open outwards. Draven found himself staring into the space beyond it despite his every instinct screaming at him to look away: there was nothing there. Nothing but inky darkness that swallowed all traces of light.

And then it _moved_. Draven watched in horror as shadows swam out of the darkness and enshrouded his doppelganger, who began to laugh and raise his arms as though embracing the darkness. It's form began to waver and shift, growing larger and morphing into something else. As its new shape began to emerge, Draven's eyes grew wide, both in horror as well as something else: recognition.

Standing… no, _towering_ before him was a knight. He was garbed in dark blue robes and ornate silver armor, his face covered by a hood and a pointed silver helmet shaped like a bird of prey or a dragon, from which a single long strand of black plumage hung in the back. He carried an enormous silver great sword with ease, and a black aura of dread and corruption radiated from his body.

Draven took several steps back in fear and awe as comprehension chilled him to his soul. "You're…"

The knight roared, loud and crazed and terrible, causing Draven to flinch back. That was all the warning the Hunter had before the knight was upon him.

.

Amelia had never been so confused and terrified in her entire life. A monster had come out of the bad Hunter, and then it changed into a knight and attacked him. But this knight was different from all of the good knights that the bad Hunter had killed: he felt wrong, like he was a very bad person but should have been a very good knight. He was defeating the Hunter easily: the Hunter's sword didn't really seem to hurt the knight, and his huge sword kept knocking the bad Hunter away and hurting him badly. That should have made her happy: the bad Hunter was going to be beaten. But…

She watched the knight grab the bad Hunter by the head from where he had been knocked to the ground, and then the knight threw him up into the air, impaled him on the end of his sword, and with a roar he flung the bad Hunter off, making him land against the big sword stuck in the ground and lie still. She held her breath as the knight turned towards her. Did he win? Was she safe now?

The knight raised his head and screamed at the sky, and Amelia found herself screaming too. No, she was _not_ saved. Because the bad Hunter had just been beaten by an even badder knight, and he was coming for her now.

.

Draven coughed up blood. "Damn…" He groped around in his pouch for a Blood Vial. He was inches away from death; it had been a very long time since a fight had tested him like this. Every strike against the abyssal knight had been shrugged off as though it were nothing, and the knight's blows struck him like the wrath of an angry dragon. On top of that the knight's blows seemed to sap Draven's strength as well as his vitality, and after that last devastating blow Draven could barely find the strength to move.

Draven stiffened: empty. "I'm out of Blood Vials…" he whispered in horror. He frantically searched the rest of his pouches: empty, empty, and empty. He looked up as the knight laughed at him and turned his back on the Hunter, now facing the tiny prison that housed Amelia. Draven's blood turned to water and he reached down for his gun…

Gone. Looking down, Draven found that his gun was missing. "Where is it?! _Where?!_ " He gritted his teeth as the knight roared, eliciting a terrified scream from little Amelia. _There!_ It was lying just a few feet away… broken. Useless. Draven looked back at the knight in horror. "No… No, no, no! LEAVE HER ALONE! HEY! DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!" The knight ignored him, stabbing his great sword into the wall next to the cage, causing Amelia's screams to redouble. Crushed with feelings of hopelessness and frustration Draven pounded a fist against the giant sword he was propped up against.

"Help her…" he whispered. "Help her… someone save her, please. If there really are any gods out there… I don't care what it will cost me. Someone… anyone, I'm begging you," he was close to tears now, Amelia's screams digging into his ears along with his soul. "Save her, please…"

A warm glow started to form within the giant blade, just as a blue butterfly landed on the hilt. It rested there for a moment before taking off again, and when it did a great howl rang throughout the arena and the woods beyond it.

The Hunter started as a warm misty light began to move past him, coalescing at a spot just a few feet away from him. The knight paused in his attempts to destroy the wall and turned to see the light. It was forming a shape… a very _large_ shape. It grew clearer and more defined, until…

Draven's mouth fell open in wonder. Standing between him and the knight was a giant grey wolf. It stared down at the knight, and though Draven could not see the knight's face, he knew that his eyes were wide in shock.

.

Amelia stared at the giant wolf as if in a trance. He was so _big_ , bigger than her grandpa's cottage! He was looking down at the bad knight, and he looked… he looked so sad. He gave a great whine like a dog and lowered his head a little, and he sniffed in the knight's direction. The bad knight slowly turned around fully to face the wolf. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then he started to reach out towards the wolf, which made the wolf give another sad whine along with a tiny bark and a whimper. Now Amelia felt like crying a little: she could feel how sad the wolf was, and he wasn't the only sad one: the bad knight felt really, really sad too.

Then the knight drew back and roared as if in pain, clutching at his head and jerking his body wildly. The wolf snarled: it sounded like the rumble of a lightning storm! And he narrowed his eyes and bared his big white teeth! The wolf turned around and walked up to the big sword where the bad Hunter was sitting. He gripped it in his jaws and pulled it free, causing the bad Hunter to fall over before the wolf turned around and faced the bad knight, growling as the knight charged.

.

Draven had no words for what he was experiencing. He felt that he was witnessing the birth of a legend. Or perhaps it was simply a new chapter in a tale as old as time itself? Regardless, he used all of the strength remaining in his body to hold himself up and watch the clash of titans. A storm had begun at some point during the battle, and the rain that had been slowly drizzling throughout the forest had become a downpour, as though the gods were watching the battle and could not help but weep. The wolf fought with great intelligence and speed, inflicting great crushing blows upon the knight who fought back savagely. Something had changed in the knight: his baleful aura had weakened somehow, and it seemed as though the wolf's very presence robbed the knight of his true strength.

Even over the din of the battle Draven's supernatural Hunter's senses detected the sound of crying. Looking around, he found that the source was little Amelia in her cell, weeping as if she had just lost a parent or a dear sibling. Soft wetness rolled down Draven's cheeks, and he cupped a hand to his face with a start. Tears. Tears and rain, pouring over and from him, causing his form to gush red as the blood began to wash away. He smiled faintly. "How cruel. Even when answering the prayers of a wretch like me, the powers that be allow dear old friends to fight each other." His form began to shake as he wept more freely. He could see their pain. He could feel their heartache. It was terrible, soul-crushing and bitter to the point that Draven's own heart ached on their behalf.

Suddenly the wolf knocked the knight onto his back and raised his sword for a killing blow. Draven saw the knight slump down, making no attempt to get out of the way. Draven's heart leapt: the knight was allowing the wolf to kill him. The significance of this was _not_ lost on the Hunter, and he smiled despite the tears now streaming from his eyes. The wolf lunged, aiming to plunge the sword through the knight's chest…

 **BANG!**

Draven blinked. The wolf staggered back whining in pain. Out of the knight's chest the shadowy upper-half of Draven's doppelganger had risen, raised its gun and fired. It sank back into the knight, who abruptly rose to his feet and grabbed his sword, his movements sluggish as if he were a puppet tied to a marionette. He took his sword in both hands and crouched...

"NO!" Draven cried, outrage and horror replacing the elation and hope he'd been feeling moments ago. He struggled to move, to call upon an arcane spell, to do _something_ to stop what was about to happen. He could only curse his own helplessness as the knight drove his sword into the wolf's chest, the wolf letting out a baleful howl of pain as the sword fell from his jaws and fell to the ground with a dull boom. The wolf fell onto his side as the knight pulled out his great sword, and Draven watched the knight reach one hand out towards the wolf's side, his arm shaking as the wolf sluggishly moved its head to look right at the knight. His jaws opened, and the wolf feebly gave the hand a tiny lick before it closed its eyes and went still.

Draven dimly heard Amelia's sobs redouble as the wolf's body dissolved into white mist. His body shook with anger, but not at the knight. No, the Hunter cursed _himself_. This was _his_ fault. The knight had been prepared to die, had embraced death. And then Draven's own weakness had undone _everything_. The knight roared once again, and Draven knew that all of the pain held within that one terrible sound had been caused by _him_.

The knight slowly and wearily turned once again in the direction of Amelia's cell, and Draven renewed his struggle to rise. The knight was injured, his power broken. _If only I could stand!_ Draven thought. _I can finish what was started! I just need a little more strength!_

From the corpses of the knights strewn about the arena, ash and faintly glowing embers began to rise. Cloudy streams of the stuff began to snake through the air, converging on the Hunter's location. Suddenly Draven felt new strength welling up within him, as if a fire had been lit inside of his soul. He dragged himself up from the mud and stood, his wounds sealing up as he bent down and snatched up one of the daggers dropped by the knights. With his free hand he drew his rapier, and standing firm he pointed his brilliant blue sword at the knight, who had turned to see him stand up. Draven switched his dagger to a reverse-grip and crossed the arm that held it over his extended right arm. His stance faltered when all of a sudden azure blue flames erupted along the length of his sword, startling the Hunter. He could feel the heat of the flames, and it emboldened him. He suddenly felt as though he was standing alongside one hundred able-bodied Hunters, and they were each devoted to the sole cause of bringing down this knight and rescuing Amelia.

"Well?" Draven called out to the knight. "Are you waiting for an engraved invitation? Let's have at it!" The knight roared and charged the Hunter, beginning things with a savage low spin with his blade. Draven actually leapt a short distance straight up and landed on the flat of the blade. He crossed his arms and slashed sideways with rapier and dagger, his twin strikes staggering the knight and drawing copious amounts of blood as his flaming sword bit into him. He followed up by making two quick slashes with his dagger left and then right, finishing by stabbing his rapier forward in a deep lunge, the inflamed point piercing the knight's silver cuirass. The knight roared in pain and anger and made to grab Draven, but the Hunter quickly back flipped away and rolled to a safe distance as the knight tried to catch him with an overhead chop.

Changing tactics, Draven crouched and then lunged in an explosive burst of speed, disappearing from sight before appearing with his sword driven into the side of the knight. He quickly pulled free and used the momentum to spin and slash with both his sword and his dagger, driving the knight off balance and allowing Draven to finish with a sideways flip that saw him plant his dagger into the knight's right shoulder while his burning sword sank into his left. The knight howled in pain and batted Draven away with the flat of his sword, winding Draven who quickly recovered and stood firm.

"One more," Draven muttered, eyes fixed unerringly on his foe as they circled once again. The knight was on his last legs, but Draven could feel his increased strength and vigor ebbing back to normal levels. He needed to settle things quickly: one final blow would end it. He saw the knight tense and knew that he was about to perform a leaping overhead chop. Deciding to go for broke, Draven stood his ground as the knight leapt and brought his sword to bear, aiming to crush the Hunter. At the last possible second Draven turned his body and stepped back, nearly getting thrown off of his feet as the knight's blade crashed to the ground inches from where he now stood. Wasting no time Draven lunged forward and plunged his blade through the knight's cuirass and into his heart, the tip erupting out of the knight's back in a shower of blood before Draven pulled back and drew his left arm up and stabbed his dagger into the knight's face.

.

Amelia gasped. Slowly the flames faded from the bad Hunter's sword, and it disappeared back into the bad knight's body with a gross wet sound. The knight fell to his knees, and some sort of black scary stuff started pouring out of the hole in his back. It got sucked into the space near the back of the yard, and eventually the gates swung shut, silver chains magically wrapping around them to lock it up tight. She saw the bad Hunter kneel down in front of the bad knight, who put his hand on the bad Hunter's shoulder and turned to look at him. Then the knight looked down at all of the dead good knights and reached down to pick up one of their hats. He brushed the bad Hunter's hat off of his head and put the hat on in its place.

The Hunter looked at the knight for a while, and his eyes seemed sad. He moved over carefully and set the big knight down on his back, then put his great sword on his chest and folded the knight's hands over it.

Amelia was so confused: wasn't this a bad Hunter?

.

Draven noticed something glimmering on the ground next to where he'd laid the fallen knight to rest. Crouching down, he found what looked like a Hunter's badge, only it was in the shape of a wolf's face. Next to it however was a round golden medallion. Pocketing the badge Draven slowly stood up with the medallion in hand. As he did so he heard an odd metallic grinding sound near his chest and looked down, frowning when he saw the state of his chest armor. It was a ruin, the plating shattered and rent beyond repair. It had been a one of a kind piece that Draven crafted himself, much like the rest of the gear he wore. Now he had to replace it in addition to his ruined gun. He glanced down at his side where his gun usually rested, the dagger he'd taken earlier in its place.

"I wonder if I can tinker with it and make it so that it attaches to the end of my rapier," he wondered out loud. Shrugging, he dismissed the thought for later and examined the medallion in his hand. It was plain on one side, but on the other side… he blinked. On the other side there was an engraving in silver of a wolf holding a sword in its jaws.

"G-give that back!" Draven blinked and looked up. "That was my grandpa's! Give it back!" Draven smiled at the child version of Amelia and strode over in her direction, only to stop when she backed away from the bars. "W-wait, s-s-stay back! Don't h-hurt me!"

Draven frowned but stopped where he was. "I can't give this back to you unless I get closer Amelia. I'm not going to hurt you I promise: I've come here to take you home."

Amelia shook her head. "I don't believe you. You're not a good Hunter, you're a bad one!"

Draven flinched, her words cutting deeper than she realized as they reminded him of his recent failings. Then he got an idea… it was a longshot, but maybe…

Amelia blinked as the Hunter sat down and crossed his legs, smiling at her kindly. "Well since I can't come to you, and I can't leave you here, I guess I'll just have to sit here, and tell you a story." He hid a small smile as he saw her eyes sparkle at the mention of a story.

"...What kind of a story?" Amelia asked suspiciously.

Draven smiled. "A story of a knight and his best friend, who never ever gave up on him…"

.

At last she had reached the arena, but it appeared as if she was too late. The sword lay discarded upon the ground, and the watchers were slain. However, the gate was barred shut, and the walker was laid upon the ground as if he were merely asleep. _He_ was sitting between her and the one she sought, his back turned to her as he spoke. She growled threateningly, causing him to stiffen and turn to face her. She was surprised to find that he smelled… cleaner than she had come to expect. He regarded her with eyes of wonder, and she saw an understanding pass through those eyes. He slowly stood up while setting something on the ground, nodding to her and tipping his hat before stepping out of the way. In the tiny cave beyond the little one turned away from him with confused eyes, and she felt her tail start to wag in delight when the little one's eyes widened with awe. They stared at each other in silence for a few moments, and during that time she tried to say with her eyes how happy she was to have found her unharmed and how glad she was that soon, they would stop being separate.

.

Draven watched Amelia stare at the white, antlered wolf as if in a trance. He could sense a presence about the wolf, something akin to that of a Great One but almost… gentle. There was power there for certain, but no hint of a will seeking to impose itself over others. It was beautiful in a way, and he found himself kneeling in respect.

The she-wolf lowered her head to the ground and picked up the medallion in her mouth before padding over to Amelia's cell. She stuck her snout through the bars to the girl, and after a moment's hesitance Amelia reached out and took the medallion in her hands.

White light began to shine from them both, forcing Draven to shield his eyes as a sound like a rushing waterfall filled his ears. He felt a sensation around his middle as though he was being violently tugged backwards…

.

Geralt blinked. "Cereza, are they… _glowing?_ "

Cereza turned to where Draven remained kneeling in front of the Vicar's warped form. She was just opening her mouth to ask what he meant, when she noticed that yes, they _were_ glowing! "Geralt get back! I don't know what…"

There was an almighty boom and the two Hunters were flung back in an explosion of silver and white, a mighty wind surging out from the altar as Geralt dug his great sword into the floor and grabbed Cereza with his free hand, holding on as tight as possible lest they both be blown away.

Then as soon as it began the light faded and the wind died down, leaving silence in its wake.

"What… the almighty _hell_ … was that?!" Cereza gasped as Geralt finally let go of her hand and the two stood up.

"You're asking the wrong Hunter," Geralt groaned as he examined their surroundings. "They didn't exactly include a crash course on the Great Ones and blood in the arm-" He trailed off at the look of incredulity on Cereza's face. Following her gaze, he looked to the altar.

They were both off like a shot a second later, racing up to the altar and halting just a foot before it. "...Draven?" Cereza began slowly. "Are you with us?"

His armor and gear were ragged and rent, as if he'd gone through a small war. An odd dagger hung from his belt in place of his pistol, and he was wearing an odd piece of headwear that looked half like a hat and half like a pointed helmet. Vicar Amelia's twisted body had vanished, but Draven remained crouched with his back to them. Then he slowly turned ever so slightly, and the Hunters saw that there was something in his arms.

Geralt moved closer, and his eyes grew wide as plates as he saw that it was not some _thing_ Draven held, but some _one_. A beautiful woman, her long hair as white and pure as freshly fallen snow. She was nude aside from the pelt of a white wolf wrapped around her form, and her eyes were closed as if she was asleep. Geralt could hear soft breaths; two sets of them, one from her, the other from Draven.

Cereza could only stare in awe at the woman held tightly in Draven's arms as he turned to face them. Her ears were pointed, covered in white fur and stuck up from the top of her head, and a pair of small antlers like a deer's were growing from her head as well. She had a long tail covered in white fur, and her hands were clasped together around a small object.

"... _worked_ …" Geralt and Cereza both jumped at the raspy whisper. Draven looked up at the two of them, his eyes shining with tears while a tired smile adorned his face. "It… worked… ahhh…"

Cereza gasped and darted forward as Draven closed his eyes and fell forward, struggling to hold up the weight of both him and the sleeping woman as Geralt quickly moved to help her. "What… what did you do?" Draven gave no answer, and it was clear that he had fallen asleep. She looked over at Geralt, the lost expression on his face a match for her own.

"We… we've got to get them back to the Hunter's Dream," Geralt insisted. "Help me get them up… is there a..?"

"Just back there," Cereza answered, gesturing mechanically to the lamp that had just appeared near the entrance to the grand cathedral. She numbly helped Geralt stand and slowly carry both of them back to the lamp, her gaze never leaving the woman's peaceful face. "What _is_ she?"

.

 **FATE DEFIED.**

 **Author's Note: Yes, that just happened. For those of you who would like to enhance your reading experience, when reading the boss battle I recommend opening a Youtube tab and looking up 'Dark Souls 3 Abyss Watchers- All for One.' As always, please review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: I got a little burnt-out from writing last chapter, and I've learned that summer classes are super hectic, so this one took longer than I'd hoped. Glad to see that the majority of you liked the boss battle I spent so long setting up, and I hope you'll enjoy this much more casual chapter as well. I must note that future updates _will_ be slow going due to the course i'm taking, but it ends mid July, so hopefully things will pick up then.**

 **.**

 **Bloodborne: Blood of the Wolf**

 **Fifth Moon: Sheep in Wolf's Clothing**

The little doll smiled and turned away from where she had been checking on Gehrman's sleeping figure: the good Hunters had returned. She slowly began to descend the steps leading away from the workshop, passing the graves on her way to the lamp post. Tonight's hunt had proven very unusual so far with three Hunters forging a Paleblood contract at the same time, and it seemed that the older Hunters were glad to have each other's company.

Their forms came into view as the doll passed the field of Paleblood flowers. She could see that all three seemed to be kneeling upon the ground and wondered if, somehow, all three had been slain at the same time and were awakening here within the dream. Such a thing seemed unlikely as each of them was powerful in their own right, but she knew full well the forces they were arrayed against.

"Welcome home, good Hunters," she greeted them. "How fares the hunt..?" She let out a small gasp of surprise: draped between two of the Hunters was the most senior Hunter the doll had ever met not counting Gehrman, and not only was he out cold: his steel plated armor was rent, his complexion was pale like ash, and held against his chest…

The doll mutely walked closer for a better look, her eyes aglow with concern and curiosity. Despite being unconscious the good Hunter held in his arms a woman, yet her features were both human and not human. No human had white hair like that, nor the ears and tail of a wolf nor a small set of antlers belonging to a deer. She was undeniably beautiful, her creamy skin flawlessly smooth and her face mature and womanly despite retaining a certain innocence as she slept. She had a form that many human women would envy, though even with her body wrapped in the wolf pelt that preserved her modesty the doll could see that the woman's frame was skinny from poor nourishment.

And above it all, the doll could _feel_ that this was no human. Neither human nor Hunter nor even the Great Ones felt like this woman. Despite her youthful appearance she felt old; not quite as old as the Great Ones but still ancient. Her presence was vast like the Great Ones, yet gentle and encompassing, almost as if she were as natural as a blade of grass, whereas the Great Ones were oppressive, otherworldly and seemed to force reality around them to conform to suit them.

"Oh my," the doll said slowly, drawing the attention of the two conscious Hunters. "What has happened? What… who is this? And what has happened to the good Hunter?"

"Wish we knew," the girl- Cereza, the doll recalled- huffed in a tone rife with exasperation. "This maniac decided to play the dashing knight in shining armor and tried to save the Vicar here from beast hood _after_ she already turned."

The doll's eyes widened in amazement. "Then this woman… this is what the good Hunter was able to save?"

"I think so," Geralt muttered as he and Cereza hauled the unconscious Hunter to his feet. "Is there room for us to lay them down in the workshop? I don't think either of them will be waking up anytime soon, and I can't get Draven to let go of her."

"You'd think he was afraid of losing her or something," Cereza quipped sarcastically.

"Perhaps… it would be better to lay them in the garden," the doll said softly. "Follow me, I shall open the gate." She was unsure why, but the doll felt it was best that the woman be allowed to recover in the field of Paleblood flowers. She unlocked the gate when they reached it and helped the Hunters through, closing it again but leaving it unlatched. The youngest of the Hunters could not stop himself from examining his new surroundings in awe as they dragged their inert comrade over to a small gap in the flowers.

"Here, set them down here," Cereza grunted as she lowered Draven to the ground, sighing in relief once she was free of his weight. "Geez Geralt, I don't know how you managed to carry him _and_ her with that big old sword on your back. Just how strong are you?"

Geralt could only shrug in reply. "I guess I just got that way from helping father out with the farm; moving hay bales around is heavy work."

 _So you're a soldier but also a farm boy, eh?_ Cereza thought to herself. _That's good to know._ She frowned slightly as another thought occurred to her. _I bet that's also largely why he reacted the way he did to learning that i'm a noble._ Now she found herself feeling that she'd reacted a little harshly to him earlier. _It's not his fault, it's just the way he was brought up. I really should apologize…_ "Hey, Geralt..." Cereza began hesitantly.

"I still can't get him to let go," Geralt muttered, not hearing Cereza as he tried unsuccessfully to pry the odd woman out of Draven's grasp. "How could he have such a tight grip on her when he isn't even conscious?" He huffed before giving it up as a bad job. "I've seen soldiers sleep with their rifles in hand, but this is…" He blinked as he realized that Cereza was looking at him expectantly. "Ah, I'm sorry Cereza, were you trying to say something?"

She bit her lip. "Er, well I…"

That was when she woke up. She slowly rose from where she had been lying against Draven, tiredly blinking sleep from her eyes as she gave a great big yawn. As she did so, she stretched her arms out above her head, which had the unfortunate side-effect of causing the pelt wrapped around her form to fall off. Geralt turned bright red and hurriedly spun around to avert his gaze. Cereza blushed and averted her eyes while the doll remained impassive. Then her vision focused, and for a split second shock and surprise flashed across her face before immediately being replaced by anger as she loosed a feral snarl and crouched on all fours above Draven's still inert form.

Cereza flinched and drew back, only just stopping her hand halfway from reaching for her threaded cane. "Rrrr, who are you?! Pack, predator or prey?"

Cereza blinked in stupefaction. "Er, what?"

"Pack, predator or prey?!" The former Vicar snarled again, now bearing her teeth and causing Cereza to note that her incisors were a bit bigger and longer than the norm, similar to the fangs of an actual canine. "Answer, or I tear your throats out!"

Cereza was flabbergasted to say the least. The woman was acting precisely like a cornered wild animal! She seemed to have no regard for the fact that she was currently quite naked, nor did she seem to realize that she was currently standing over Draven.

"I'm hearing a lot of growling back there," Geralt said, not daring to turn around and look. "Should I be getting my weapon ready?"

"No, no," Cereza hissed out of the corner of her mouth. "I think I can reason with her." She silently thanked the larger Hunter for speaking, as his brief interruption had given her time to think and process the feral woman's odd query. "We're not your prey and we're not here to prey on you either," she said calmly. "We're not really your pack…" she faltered when her statement made the growling renew. "B-but we're in the same pack as the one who saved you!" She added hastily, praying that the beast woman would take this as a reason not to attack.

And it seemed as though the Huntress had spoken the magic words, because the wild one's posture relaxed and she stopped growling at Cereza. Suddenly she blinked in confusion and looked down slightly, and it was then that she seemed to realize that a pair of arms were loosely wrapped about her waist. Her gaze traveled lower as she followed the arms to their owner, and once she found him she went very, very still. Cereza could not help but watch in silence, fascinated by the way the girl was looking at Draven. Her green eyes that seconds ago had blazed with the dangerous fire of the wild were now calm and inquisitive, as if she was comparing the Hunter that she gazed upon with someone or something else.

"That's Draven," Cereza whispered. "He was the one who… tried to save you."

"Dra...ven," the woman whispered, saying the name slowly as if she was testing the way it sounded. A tiny smile spread across her face and her new tail began to gently wag. "Good-bad Hunter…"

.

The sensations of exhaustion and a soft weight against his chest were Draven's first warnings that he was returning to a state of consciousness. His entire body felt as though it had been drained of every hint of moisture, and he ached all over. There was however a comfortable warmth coming from within his chest, specifically from where his heart beat. The warmth was familiar, though Draven could not tell why this was so, and as he paid attention to it the warmth seemed to spread through his body in response, though the majority of it remained concentrated near his heart. The warmth soothed his weary muscles and seemed to breath life back into his veins, and he managed to coax a dry groan from his throat and marshaled his returning strength to make an attempt at opening his eyes.

At first when his vision finally returned he wasn't sure what he was looking at. His first impression was that there was a large white wolf standing over him while Cereza looked on nearby with an expression of mixed bewilderment and… amusement? Then his eyes focused, and Draven's gaze frantically sought for a direction to look in that did _not_ have him gazing upon a very beautiful and _very_ under-dressed woman, his face rapidly heating up at the awkwardness of his position.

He cleared his throat, causing the others to jump a little in surprise. "Ahem, would you mind covering up Amelia? Your state of ah… undress makes you a little hard to look at." He blinked when he heard a… happy whine in response? And then he had to fight very, _very_ hard to maintain his composure- such as it was- when _someone_ started _sniffing_ him!

"You're awake!" Cereza had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing out loud: the woman's tail was now wagging back and forth at such a speed that it was impossible for Cereza to not think of her own pet dog. "Thank you for telling me that story!" She frowned and tilted her head slightly in confusion. "But… what's a 'state of undress?'"

Cereza gave Amelia an 'are you serious?' look that the former Vicar returned with one of genuine confusion and curiosity. "...He means that you're as naked as a baby," the Huntress finally dead-panned. "You _do_ remember the concept of clothes, right?"

Amelia actually took on a thoughtful look as if she was indeed making an effort to remember if what Cereza had told her was true or not. Eventually her eyes lit up in understanding. "Oh, that's right! People don't have fur like I do!" She smiled happily at her realization, seeming pleased with herself. Before Cereza could voice her growing concern that the Vicar might have lost a portion of her sanity, Geralt spoke up from where he had been pointedly keeping watch… facing _away_ from Amelia of course.

"Um, Cereza? Are you… having a conversation with her?"

Cereza actually turned around at that to blink at Geralt's back as though it had grown wings. "Um… yes? That _is_ what one calls the discourse between two or more individuals."

"But… how can you understand her?" Geralt asked. "All I hear coming from her are growls and other sounds made by dogs."

"Really?" Came Draven's somewhat muffled voice from behind Amelia. "I'm hearing nothing but perfect English from her."

"Same here," Cereza admitted with a frown. "But you say you can't understand her Geralt?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Now that's… weird," Cereza said at last. Then there was a sound behind her like a muffled _THUMP!_ And she briefly felt a gust of air buffet her back and glimpsed a flash of soft light. Spinning around again, she gaped at the sight of Amelia now wearing a primitive sort of skirt and loose vest made of wolf fur. The pelt that she had been draped in was no-longer anywhere in sight; Cereza suspected that Amelia was in fact still wearing the pelt, in a sense.

"You can look now, boys," Cereza announced numbly, still trying to process the sheer absurdity of recent events as well as events that were still unfolding. "Well, I wanted to talk about weird things happening," she snorted while throwing her hands up in exasperation. "So, Amelia… it _is_ Amelia, right?"

"Yes," Amelia chirped happily as Geralt finally turned around to face her again and Draven sat up straight (fortunately for him Amelia was now sitting in front of him instead of _on top_ of him). "That's what mother named me."

"Right," Cereza nodded. "Anyway, what do you remember? Can you tell us what happened to you?"

Amelia frowned in thought. "Hmmm… grandpa got sick and died… and I think mother died too. After that the good-bad Hunter- I mean, _Draven_ found me, and he fought all of the good knights, and then a monster came out of him and turned into a bad knight, and then-"

"Wait wait wait," Cereza interrupted while holding her hands up in a 'hold everything' manner. "Knights? Monsters? I think you'd better start from the beginning."

"But I just did," Amelia pouted like a child.

"...Perhaps I should explain," Draven interjected, seeing the frustration in Cereza's expression. "I think I owe you two at least that much since you've put up with my brand of madness." He added with a look of apology.

"You could say that again," Geralt muttered while Cereza sent Draven a glare. "And again, how is it you two can understand her? You say that she's speaking english, but all I hear are growls."

Draven shrugged. "I have a theory: how high is your Insight?" He directed his question at Cereza as well, seeing as her ability to understand Amelia meant that it wasn't something Draven alone was capable of.

"If I had to give it a number," Cereza said thoughtfully, "I'd say 67."

Geralt looked sheepish. "Er… _38?_ "

"Perhaps that's why then," Draven nodded. "Cereza and I can understand Amelia because we have powerful Insight."

"But why would that allow you to understand her?" Geralt puzzled.

"Again, all I have is a theory," Draven replied. "But I think that what I did to save Amelia has left her in a state of being closer to being a Great One than a human, or something that is similar but different. Insight is needed in order to comprehend the Great Ones: the more you gain Geralt, the more you'll be able to see their influence here in Yharnam. As it stands, there are things out there in the city that are currently invisible to your eyes, yet Cereza and I can see them as plain as day."

Geralt raised an eyebrow at that. "...What sort of things?" He asked skeptically.

"Disturbing things, for one," Cereza remarked with a shiver. "And hidden Great One things, for another."

"So following that logic," Draven concluded, "Cereza and I can understand Amelia because of our Insight, and Geralt can't because he lacks enough Insight to comprehend her speech."

Amelia turned to Draven with a look of realization. "Oh… can he not understand me?" She asked while pointing at Geralt. When Draven nodded she offered Geralt an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry; I'll remember to talk like you do from now on then."

Geralt blinked in surprise. "Wha..? Hey, I can understand her now!"

Cereza and Draven's eyes widened. "Just like that?" Cereza asked in disbelief. "She goes from speaking some Insight intensive language to plain speak just like that? Seriously Draven: what the bleeding hell have you turned her into?"

"I wish I knew myself," Draven answered with a mystified look in his eyes. "So many strange and incredible things happened when I was inside Amelia's mind… if indeed that _is_ where I went, that what she's become now doesn't quite surprise me."

"Alright, get on with it then," Cereza demanded impatiently. "After you force fed Amelia here that third of an umbilical cord- I still owe you a good beating for that, just so we're clear- what _exactly_ happened?"

For the next several minutes Draven proceeded to fill his fellow Hunters in on the events that befell him within the forest of Amelia's mind. He told them of the memories he'd witnessed and the phantoms he'd battled, sparing no detail in re-telling the battle against the legendary knights and the malevolent force that had been rooted in his own heart.

"So these… 'Abyss Watchers,'" Cereza said slowly. "They were an old order of knights from ancient times who swore an oath to protect the world from… what exactly?"

"The Abyss," Draven answered grimly. "I couldn't tell you what it is exactly. In my homeland we have a saying: 'gaze long into the abyss, and the abyss gazes long into you.' It's all of the bad inside of you, and all of the evil you could go on to do if you ever forsook the path of peace and goodness. And at the same time, it's all of the bad that's been done and could possibly be done by _everyone else_ in the world. The Abyss Watchers were an order that took up the cause of their founder, the great knight Artorias, who first attempted to do battle with the Abyss as though it was a foe that could be bested in combat." He lowered his head mournfully, and from where she had been idly lying in the flowers nearby Amelia flattened her ears and whined in sorrow.

"But you can't fight the Abyss," Geralt concluded with a frown, "can you?"

"You can try," Draven said with a thin smile. "But stand alone against the Abyss, and it will do everything in its considerable power to corrupt you and turn you into one of its champions. Such was the fate of Artorias, that the Abyss' greatest foe became its greatest agent for spreading chaos and corruption. Artorias was eventually put down by his greatest and most beloved friend-"

"Sif!" Amelia chirped happily, her tail wagging slowly. "Sif asked a good hunter for help, and they helped his friend to rest!"

Draven smiled and nodded at Amelia. "A legion of knights who followed Artorias before his fall to corruption took up the cause of their master. They partook of the blood of Sif, so that they would have the strength to fight the Abyss as his master had, but they vowed to stand together until the end of time, so that the Abyss would fail if it tried to corrupt them all. The legion once called the Wolves of Farron became known as the Abyss Watchers, and the rest is legend."

The four of them were silent for a while. "Okay," Cereza said slowly. "But… why was all of that in _her_ head?" She asked while pointing at Amelia.

In response Draven turned to Amelia and held his hand out. "Amelia, may I please see your grandfather's medallion for a moment?" The Vicar turned beastling reluctantly obliged, handing Draven her golden medallion which he then showed to his fellow Hunters.

"You see this wolf here, holding a sword in his teeth? _That_ is the great wolf Sif. I don't have any proof yet, but what if this medallion was once a badge of allegiance held by the Abyss Watchers? What if one of them, possibly the last of their order, had a family? A family whose veins contained the blood of Sif and the Farron Wolves?"

Geralt and Cereza glanced at each other and then at Amelia. "So you think she's somehow related to them?" Geralt concluded. "Do you think that's why she looks so… wolf-like?"

"It's as good a theory as any," Draven shrugged while handing the medallion back to Amelia, who took it with a grateful smile. "Perhaps the blood of her Abyss Watcher ancestor and Sif created some final sanctuary for her soul when she became a beast. After all, technically I was the one to attack the Abyss Watchers after assuming they were keeping her imprisoned; for all we know, they were there to protect her."

"I have to admit, the theory fits," Cereza nodded. "I mean, Sif came to protect her from Artorias… I mean, the black Hunter that came out of you… whatever!" She finished with a huff. "My point is, Sif didn't go after you because Artorias was a bigger threat to Amelia, and the Abyss Watchers went after you because of that Abyss stuff inside of you."

"They were just standing by their oath," Geralt agreed. "They saw that the Abyss was overcoming you, so they tried to put you down the way Sif put Artorias down originally."

Draven grimaced. "Yes… they stopped me from going down a terrible path." He went silent for a moment. "The long hunt made me think that I was immune to corruption, because Palebloods don't fall to beast hood like normal Hunters. I was stupid to think that."

"Pretty much," Cereza remarked dryly. "Just like it was stupid of you to try force-feeding a beast a third of a Great One's umbilical cord." A small smile tugged the corners of her lips as she turned to watch Amelia innocently sniffing at a bunch of flowers. "Still… I'm glad your stupidity lead to at least _one_ good thing."

Draven smiled and turned to watch Amelia as well. "Yes… so am I." He was silent for a moment before seeming to decide upon something. "All right, for now our best course of action is to press on. We need to make our way through the forest of Hemwick and reach Byrgenwerth. From there, we may be able to take certain precautions to prevent certain undesired events from occurring this night."

"No offense," Geralt remarked while pointing at Draven's chest, "but are you sure you're up for it? By your own word, the phantom of Artorias really chewed you up, and I don't think that armor of yours is salvageable."

Draven grimaced and stood up while running a hand along his ruined chest plate. "I'm afraid you're right on that last account Geralt. But I think I may be able to find a suitable replacement." He took out a small sliver of metal shaped like a wolf's head.

"There's something else as well," Geralt added. "What are we going to do about Amelia?"

"Indeed good Hunters: what _are_ you going to do with this curious young woman?" The Hunters were surprised to see Gehrman slowly approaching them in his wheelchair, the doll immediately getting up and moving to stand behind him. The old man looked upon Amelia with great curiosity and wonder, a look that she returned with a wary gaze of her own as she moved behind Draven, remaining low to the ground. "Not a beast, not a Hunter, and not one of the common folk. You are a _remarkable_ one, aren't you my wild friend?"

Amelia growled and stood a little straighter. "You smell of old things that don't belong!" She snarled. "It can have you if it wants, but it cannot have me, or the good-bad Hunter!" The Hunters turned to Amelia, surprised by her sudden hostility. Both Draven and Gehrman frowned at her choice of words, and the two senior Hunters exchanged a look of understanding.

"Amelia, calm down!" Cereza pleaded. "This is Gehrman, he's our friend! He helps Hunters like us in our hunt!"

"He does as his false patron bids him do!" Amelia declared, baring her teeth now as her fingernails began to lengthen and her hair began to grow shaggier. From his position nearest her, Draven could see new muscles forming beneath Amelia's skin, skin that was beginning to gain silver white fur. To make matters worse, the light of the pale moon hanging above the Hunter's Dream was beginning to darken.

Draven knelt and laid a calming hand on Amelia's shoulder. "Easy Amelia, if you feel that strongly then we shall simply leave." He turned to Geralt and Cereza. "Please take her to Odeon Chapel. I'll meet you there after I attend to my armor and have a word with master Gehrman."

Amelia's anger instantly morphed into worry and concern. "No, you mustn't stay! He's trying to trick you! If it thinks you're better than him, it will take you instead!"

Draven smiled. "Don't worry little wolf: I won't stay long enough to be 'adopted.' I just need to establish a few… fine points with my old mentor."

Cereza threw her hands up in exasperation. "Okay, am I the only one who's lost here? What on earth are you three talking about? Why is it that everyone seems to be gearing up for a fight?"

"I'll have answers for you," Draven assured her. "But not now. Now please, take Amelia to the chapel."

"And if the others ask about Amelia's appearance?" Geralt asked. "I'm pretty sure they won't react well to seeing a woman dressed in furs with the features of… well, whatever she is."

"I have a sneaking suspicion that they won't," Draven replied with a smile. "I suspect that a lack of _insight_ on their part will prevent any issues from arising."

Amelia let out a very canine whine and tried to tug Draven further away from Gehrman. "But… but you're not the same! You have eyes that are open and strong blood, but you're not like them, or me! It might decide to snatch you up now while it has the chance!"

"It won't abandon its current ward," Draven said confidently, sending a meaningful look towards Gehrman, who returned it with a frown. "Now go. I promise i'll come tell you a new story after I'm done here."

Amelia's beastly features began to recede back to what they were before her outburst. "Promise?" She asked, her eyes childish and pleading.

"I promise. I'll tell you the tale of the wicked six-fingered man and the swordsman who hunted him to avenge the death of his father."

Amelia hesitated for a few moments before finally nodding. "Just remember: you're _my_ good-bad Hunter, and no-one else's." She glared up at the moon before moving to follow Cereza and Geralt, missing the small blush that crept across Draven's face as he watched them leave.

"She has no-idea how possessive she sounded just now," Draven muttered as he faced Gehrman.

"You've some explaining to do, boy," the old Hunter stated gruffly once the others had left. "How long have you known? How did you create that… Orphan? And what have you done to yourself?"

Draven blinked in surprise. "In order? I've known about your status as a 'surrogate' since the beginning. Amelia is no Orphan, she's something else. Something I can't possibly name or categorize that escapes the understanding of myself, and probably master Willem. And I didn't 'create' her, though I did catalyze her transformation by feeding her a cord after she succumbed to beast hood."

Gehrman's grip on the arms of his wheelchair became white-knuckled. "You did _what?_ Have you abandoned all traces of sanity?! Do you have any idea of the sheer foolishness you've committed?!"

Draven's eyes narrowed. "Foolish like using a cord in a desperate bid to have lady Maria back, you mean?"

"You dare…" Gehrman growled.

"I speak only the truth," Draven countered as he began to pace around Gehrman and the doll. "I've been inside the Hunter's Nightmare Gehrman; I've seen the one who the little doll is meant to resemble. I know all about Kos and what happened at the fishing village. As much as I respect you for being the father of all Hunters, you have no right to lecture me about _foolishness_."

The old Hunter flinched. "You've seen..? But how? How could you pass into the Nightmare and then leave? Perhaps I shouldn't have asked 'what is that girl?' but instead should have asked myself: 'what is this _boy?_ '"

Draven frowned. "What do you mean by that? I'm a very powerful and Insightful Hunter. Beyond that, that's all I know of what I am."

"Yet the _feel_ of you," Gehrman said with some quiet awe. "You feel like… like…" The old Hunter struggled for words.

"Fire," the doll supplied. "You feel like a flame, good Hunter. Blazing with life, light, warmth and furious power."

Draven's eyes widened in surprise. _That's… could this mean..?_ He shook his head. "Regardless, Amelia is _off limits._ That goes double for your 'patron.' Geralt and Cereza and I are similarly beyond its reach."

"What is it that you intend to do?" Gehrman asked. "Do you seek my death, boy? Do you think that will bring an end to the hunts? Because if you do indeed think that, you are sorely mistaken."

"No," Draven replied. "I know that your death will not bring an end to this terrible night. But hear me well, old one," Draven added while stepping closer to Gehrman, blues eyes blazing with an inner fire. "Try anything to harm or exploit Amelia, anything at all, and _I_ will be the one who shows you _mercy_."

.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ugh, I can't believe it took me a month to belt this out. The summer course I'm currently taking is proving to be much more difficult and time consuming than I initially anticipated, so updates will likely continue to be slow until it ends mid july.**

 **Now regarding the _true_ tale of Artorias, what Draven told the others in this chapter is just his interpretation of the legend (with a slightly happier ending thrown in for Amelia's sake). It will only be considered canon as far as this fic is concerned.**

 **I wanted this chapter to show just how much Amelia has changed beyond her new appearance, and she will be exhibiting other signs that she is something 'more' as the story goes on. I also wanted to suggest that Draven is beginning to break away from Gehrman and his teachings. Expect to see some of both of those elements next chapter, along with some new pieces of gear for Draven. And don't worry: Geralt and Cereza are not going to be left out of the badass club ;)**

 **Until next time, please fav, follow and review.**

 **P.S: If you can guess what story Draven promised to tell Amelia, you get cybercookies ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Oh would you look at that: I managed to update earlier than expected :) This chapter ran a LOT longer length wise than I was expecting, but I think it will satisfy your curiosity for those of you who wanted to see more of how Amelia has changed. You'll also see some interesting interactions between my OC Hunter's and the NPCs, but why spoil things? Read on and enjoy.**

 **.**

 **Bloodborne: Blood of the Wolf**

 **Sixth Moon: Gunpowder Treason and Plot**

Adella covertly glared at the woman that the two Hunters had brought with them out of the corner of her eye. She was a disgrace, playing with the two brats on the floor and acting for all the world as though she was a child herself; unsuitable behavior for an esteemed vicar of the church. She was clothed in filthy fur garments that were a far cry from the modest vestments of the clergy, leaving little to the imagination and making her look little better than a whore. Speaking of whores, Adella didn't like how close Arianna was getting to the two innocent girls. Bad enough that she carried such filthy blood in her veins: did she really need to corrupt them by being the one that such impressionable girls looked to for reassurance with their real parents dead?

Still, Adella found her thoughts returning to what she could only see as the pitiful husk of the once promising vicar Amelia. _She can't be her,_ the nun thought to herself. _Truly, the Hunters have made a mistake. This… this urchin cannot be the one whom vicar Laurence entrusted with so much! She was meant to ascend to godhood, not fall into mindlessness!_ Her private musings were interrupted when the lamp in the middle of the chapel began to glow with a pale light, signaling the appearance of another Hunter. The other two Hunters looked up from the quiet conversation they were having off to the side of the room, and the woman they called Amelia looked up at the materializing Hunter's form with an expression of happiness.

Draven had scarcely returned to corporeal form in Yharnam when he was knocked flat on his back with a startled grunt, bowled over by a flying tackle from Amelia who now sat atop him grinning ear to ear. "You came back!" she exclaimed happily, oblivious to Evie and Sophie's laughter as they watched the older woman's antics. "I thought the moon was trying to take you for a moment! You should not have lingered so long in its realm!" She glared at the Hunter accusingly.

"Well, it's good to be wanted I suppose," Draven laughed as he pulled himself to his feet, noting with no small amusement the way Amelia's tail wagged despite her cross expression. "I did promise you I'd be back little wolf, and I pride myself upon being a Hunter of my word."

"Speaking of your word and promises made," Cereza interrupted as she and Geralt joined them. "You owe us an explanation regarding that conversation you had with the old man."

Draven frowned but nodded. "Very well. I suppose i'd better start with what I know of master Gehrman and his time with the Church…"

While the three Hunters conversed in furtive whispers, Evie and Sophie joined Amelia in marveling at the lead Hunter's new attire. While Amelia was familiar with the combination pointed helm/hat that Draven now wore in place of his tricorn cap, it was a new sight for Sophie and Evie. He still wore his iconic crimson scarf, and a new pistol hung from his belt on his left. His beautiful rapier had undergone a drastic change: its elaborate hilt and pommel now had a short dagger attached to the end of the handle, making it two blades in one. The blue steel of the blade that could be seen through small openings in the sheathe no-longer created an impression of ice; now it seemed that any light reflected by the blade danced across it like flickering flames.

But that was where the familiar elements ended. Over his chest Draven wore an elaborate silver plated cuirass complete with smooth silver pauldrons and armlets with matching gauntlets, all lovingly inscribed with flowing silver and blue patterns. A mixture of silver chain mail and boiled leather that had been dyed blue adorned his waist beneath his belts, and shining silver leggings and boots completed the Hunter's impressive new ensemble. The armor looked even tougher and more durable than Draven's previous attire, and though it was doubtless heavier as well Draven's movement seemed unimpeded.

"I've never seen a Hunter with clothes like that," Sophie whispered to her older sister. "Didn't daddy say that Hunters need to dress light so they aren't slow?"

"Yeah," Evie nodded. "Daddy did say that. That's why they like to use leather: daddy said it was tough but really light too."

"Then won't the Hunter get tired?" Sophie asked with a look of confusion. "That looks really pretty, like the armor the knights in stories wear. But looks heavy too."

"The good-bad hunter won't mind it," Amelia responded with a smile. "He's very fast and very strong. It won't slow him down much; it didn't slow down its previous wearer." The two sisters glanced at Amelia with confusion at her cryptic statement but didn't argue.

"So Gehrman's trapped himself in the Hunter's Dream," Cereza muttered as Draven finished his explanation. "And all because he wanted to bring the little doll to life. Why though?" She asked. "Does it have something to do with his first student, this lady Maria you mentioned?"

"It has _everything_ to do with her," Draven confirmed with a nod. "That's a bit of a story in and of itself, and it may be a tale for another time. The long and short of it is that Gehrman was called upon by Byrgenwerth and the Church to commit some very questionable acts in the name of their research into the Great Ones, and Maria was a reluctant accomplice in all of it. She… couldn't cope with the things she was made to do," Draven concluded sadly while removing his helm and holding it over his chest in respect.

Geralt frowned sadly. "I see, then… the doll is Gehrman's attempt to have lady Maria back, isn't she?"

"I'm afraid so," Draven sighed. "The Great One Gehrman contacted using the cord was unable to bring her back, so it created a pale imitation of Maria to the best of its abilities. Now Gehrman is it's surrogate, its ward. He is bound to the Great One and cannot escape it. He can't even die of old age in that dream realm." He frowned and lowered his gaze to the floor. "We still need his help for now, but… I fear that eventually, someone must release him." He closed his eyes. "Someone must show him mercy…"

The trio of Hunters was silent for a moment. Eventually Geralt broke the silence. "So… what now? Do we still make for the forbidden woods and the college of Byrgenwerth beyond it?"

Draven nodded. "Yes, we must make haste to the college. Several Great Ones have been scheming for some time, and tonight's the night that many of those schemes shall come to fruition, with our world caught in the fallout."

"And Byrgenwerth can help us stop it all?" Cereza asked.

"I don't know," Draven admitted with a frown. "But Byrgenwerth is the one place where all of this blood madness was approached with some level of caution and restraint. God willing, the scholars there learned or discovered something after the founders of the Healing Church broke away from them, something that we can use to stop the impending disaster."

"What _is_ this impending disaster?" Geralt inquired. "Let's say for a moment that I believe that you and Cereza really have been stuck in a time loop revolving around this hunt: that would mean that you know what's coming, right?"

Draven gave Geralt an amused look. "My my Geralt, whatever happened to all of that skepticism from earlier?"

Geralt rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that. I'll be the first to admit that I haven't exactly been the most open-minded of our little group, but after seeing some of the things we've seen on this night… let's just say i'm re-thinking my previous position."

Draven nodded approvingly. "Fair enough. To answer your question, yes, I _should_ know what's going to happen tonight, but I can no-longer be sure that things will go exactly as I remember them."

"Because we've been doing things tonight that we weren't able to before," Cereza supplied with a nod. "Namely saving Evie and Sophie over there, not to mention that business with Amelia."

Geralt looked confused. "I don't understand: how will any of that change what might happen tonight? I mean, I can sort of understand with Amelia, seeing that she's… _important,_ in a sense," he concluded after a brief pause. "But Evie and Sophie? They're wonderful little children, don't get me wrong, but how does saving them change the outcome of plots set into motion by eldritch beings?"

"How indeed?" Draven chuckled. "I had never seen you or Cereza before on this hunt, yet because the two of you are here, we were able to save Gascoigne's daughters. And because we were able to save two little girls," Draven continued with a small smile, "I became drunk off of the idea that I could save those whom I couldn't save before. The results…" the three Hunters looked over at Amelia, who was playing a guessing game with the two little girls, her unseen tail slowly wagging back and forth.

"Change one number in a series of sums, and the entire equation changes and spits out a different answer," Cereza concluded.

"Exactly," Draven nodded. "However, I'm kind of dodging Geralt's original question here, so to get back to answering: If things go according to the previous hunts, someone in the city is engaged in a ritual to beckon the Great Ones to our world."

Cereza grimaced. "It's working too. There's a Great One lurking in the Cathedral Ward unseen to people with low Insight."

Geralt groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Spectacular. So how do we make them leave?"

"In theory, we need to kill whoever's performing the ritual," Draven replied. "Though even if we do that, I fear we have another problem: the ritual seems to have woken the surrogate of a Great One that should be dead, and it's crying out for its parent."

Cereza went pale. "Draven… are you talking about… _that_ crying?" she whispered. "That crying that no-one else seems to hear?"

"So you _do_ hear it," Draven muttered. "Yes Cereza, what you and I are hearing is indeed the crying of a Great One's surrogate child."

"And let me guess," Geralt huffed dejectedly, "you can't hear it unless you have powerful Insight?"

"Actually, with the ritual to beckon the Great Ones in full swing, the boundaries between our world and theirs should be weak enough for _anyone_ to be able to hear it," Draven said. "Yet only the Insightful can. I think there's something out there in the city _blocking_ the full effects of the ritual, providing enough interference to prevent the Great Ones from fully hearing the cries or the beckoning."

Geralt looked puzzled by this. "But… Cereza just said that there's already a Great One in the city!"

"Maybe some of the Great Ones can still hear the call," Cereza shrugged, "just not the ones that the beckoner or the surrogate are trying to reach?"

"Theories," Draven grumbled. "Endless theories and speculation. I'm afraid there are no definite answers."

Geralt shook his head. "In that case, we stick to what we know for _fact_ : someone's called the Great Ones. We find them, kill them, and the call stops."

"And if the surrogate keeps crying out afterwards?" Cereza asked pointedly.

Geralt hesitated for a moment before saying, "Then we find it and… silence it too." He scuffed his boots against the floor before looking up at Draven. "You said it was supposed to be dead, right?"

"'All Great Ones yearn for a child,'" Draven said as though reciting. "'And all Great Ones inevitably lose their child, and long for a surrogate.' No matter how the Great Ones try to have a child, something always seems to go wrong. Believe me, this surrogate, this 'Nightmare Child' we'd be silencing is not a child as we humans would understand one. And Geralt is right: it had its chance to live. We cannot have it calling its parent here and warping our world any further."

Cereza bowed her head. "It's sad really: they just want to have children. Even the one that Draven says has a hold of Gehrman."

Draven nodded. "True, I cannot deny that I have a small measure of sympathy for them. But they are the source of the old blood and the scourge of beasts." He looked over at Evie and Sophie, orphaned after their father fell to beast hood, and at Amelia, who was no longer human. "We must show them no mercy."

Geralt nodded, his face set in determination. "To Byrgenwerth then. Let's end this before anymore people have to suffer." Draven and Cereza both nodded and made to follow the Hunter towards the lamp.

...Only to be brought up short by an indignant Amelia who stood in their way, arms crossed defiantly as she glared at Draven. "You promised," she growled. "You promised to tell me a story!"

Draven blinked and looked sheepish. "Er, that I did… but-"

"No buts!" Amelia cut him off, acting like a child moments away from a temper tantrum. "You said you're a Hunter of your word! So keep it!"

Draven grumbled to himself while ignoring the amused looks that Cereza, Geralt and even Arianna were sending his way. "Betrayed by my own gallantry… Oh alright then," he said at last, earning himself a satisfied smile from Amelia. "But it is a rather long story, so what will Cereza and Geralt do in the meantime?"

"What, we can't stay and listen to the story too, Draven?" Cereza teased with a mischievous grin.

Draven glared at her while Amelia hummed thoughtfully and shook her head. "No, you need to find the crow." Everyone turned to her with looks of confusion.

"Er, pardon?" Cereza asked.

"You need to go find the crow," Amelia repeated with a bright smile. "I dreamed that she's near the tomb with the same name as this chapel. She needs your help to find some bad Hunters." She turned to Geralt and added, "I also dreamed of you going into a part of the city that smells like soot and old fires."

Draven stiffened at this. "Are you sure Amelia? I told Geralt and Cereza not to go there because of the... sad Hunter who watches over that part of the city, and I wanted to leave him alone."

"Very sure," Amelia nodded, her smile never leaving her expression. "Geralt just has to tell the gatekeeper that he's 'a bear searching for his teeth,' and the sad Hunter won't hurt him."

Arianna, who had been following the whole bizarre exchange, stared at the woman in surprise. "What's that then? Is that like a prophecy or fortune telling?"

Amelia shook her head. "No. I dreamed of those things happening. So they're going to happen," she said with nothing but confidence in her voice.

"Well, can't argue with that," Draven laughed. "Amelia here likely sees far more than any of us mere Hunters could ever hope to glimpse. If she were to tell me that it's possible to fall up, i'd believe her."

Amelia looked at Draven with confusion. "But you _can't_ fall up: that's just silly."

Draven waved his hand dismissively. "Just a figure of speech. At any rate, it sounds like you're talking about Eileen the Crow and Old Yharnam. Eileen needing Cereza's help in putting down some bad Hunters makes sense, seeing as Eileen makes it her business to end any Hunters who succumb to blood madness. 'Tomb that shares the same name as this chapel' probably means Odeon Tomb, since this is Odeon Chapel." He frowned. "As for the part of the city that smells of soot and old fires, that'd have to be Old Yharnam."

"You don't sound happy about me having to go there," Geralt observed. "And you mentioned a 'sad Hunter.' Is he dangerous?"

"Only if you make him your enemy," Draven muttered. "His name is Djura, formerly of the Powder Keg order of Hunters."

"A heretic." The Hunters blinked and looked over at Adella, surprised by her outburst. "The Powder Kegs are no true Hunters of the Church," she continued with a deep scowl. "They were cast out years ago for their blasphemous ways. To associate with them is heresy against the Church."

"As if I've ever let the opinions of the Church stop me before," Draven shot back with an angry snarl, taking some satisfaction from the way the nun flinched back in fear. Turning back to Geralt he continued. "The Powder Kegs were a group of Hunters from the Old Workshop known for having a certain flair for… a more bombastic approach to hunting. Djura may be the most famous of their order, and he keeps vigil over Old Yharnam as a… penance, if you will." Draven shook his head. "Normally I'd tell you to avoid him, but if Amelia says that this password she's dreamed of will grant you an audience with him, perhaps you _should_ go, and hear what he has to say."

Geralt bowed his head in thought. "Alright. If nothing else, I suppose it couldn't hurt to find out more about these Powder Kegs, and why the Healing Church," he lowered his voice to a whisper so that only his fellow Hunters (and wolf-eared Amelia) could hear him, "which conducts research into the Great Ones calls them heretics."

Draven and Cereza both nodded. "I'd seen Eileen around during my previous hunt," Cereza said out loud. "I only ever helped her out once, but I always did wonder about who she was and why she hunts other Hunters. Since the little wolf is so sure that she needs my help, and seeing as she knows a lot of things that she shouldn't, I suppose i'd better get on with it then."

"I guess that settles things then," Draven said. "I'll wait here and make good on my promise to give Amelia a good story, while the two of you go out and take care of these 'errands.' If anything goes wrong, come back here and get me, but if not, then I suppose I'll see you both in an hour or so." Scarcely had he finished speaking when the Hunter was yanked backwards with an undignified yelp by Amelia, who demonstrated far more strength and vigor than her bony limbs suggested. She bodily hauled the Hunter over to an empty chair and nearly threw him into it, before sitting down cross-legged on the floor in front of him with an expectant expression, tail wagging eagerly. By now Cereza, Geralt, Arianna and Gascoigne's daughters were howling with laughter, causing Draven to blush in embarrassment and shoot his comrades a look that soon saw them fleeing the chapel, though it did nothing to silence their mirth. "I suppose i'd better get on with it myself," Draven muttered, his expression lightening up as Sophie and Evie both took a seat next to Amelia. "Alright then. Now, this story of revenge actually starts with a story of true love, with a beautiful farm girl named…"

.

Geralt paused to read the notice nailed to the doors. It was a warning that stated Hunters were no-longer welcome within Old Yharnam, and it caused a chill of nervousness to pass through the burly Hunter as he heaved the doors open. Almost immediately he gagged and pulled the hem of his cape up around his mouth. The air was thick with ash, soot and smoke, and the streets he stepped into were charred black.

"You there, Hunter!" Geralt froze at the sound of the voice calling out to him. He glanced around in confusion for a brief moment before managing to locate the speaker on a rooftop a fair distance from his position once he spoke again. "Didn't you see the sign? Hunters are _not_ welcome here anymore. Leave now while you can!"

Gathering his courage, Geralt cupped his hands to his mouth and called out: "Hello there! My name is Geralt! Are you Djura of the Powder Kegs?"

There was a pause. "I am Djura," the speaker eventually replied. "Though I cannot be said to be of the Powder Kegs, seeing as there are none of them left, unless you count myself." The voice turned accusing and suspicious. "Is that why you're here then? Come to take care of me, and bury the dirty rotten secret of what your masters did here?"

"No!" Geralt called out, frowning slightly. _Secret? Of the Church? What secret?_ "I was told to tell you that, 'I am a bear searching for his teeth!'"

There was a much longer pause. Geralt held his breath slightly as the seconds ticked by, wondering if he should be preparing for an ambush. Then he heard a loud rattling and a clack, followed by the sound of something sliding down and impacting the ground.

"Come around the back of the main road," Djura called out. "I've just let the ladder down. I'll be waiting for you on the rooftop; you and I have things to discuss, apparently. And _mind the beasts_. You harm them, and 'bear looking for his teeth' or no, you _will_ suffer the last Powder Keg."

He wanted to ask Djura why the beasts weren't to be harmed, seeing as it ran counter to Geralt's basest instincts as a Hunter. But something told the young Hunter that he'd have the answers he sought- and many others, soon enough, and proceeded to rendezvous with the veteran Hunter.

.

Cereza cursed as she hastily back-stepped, narrowly dodging the swing of the saw-axe that one of the rogue Hunters was trying to catch her with. Behind her she heard the other one grunt softly, and in her mind's eye she saw him with his Kirkhammer poised to smash her in one good blow. She quickly rolled left and spun in their direction as she rose, taking some fleeting satisfaction of the sight of the first Hunter hastily freezing in his tracks to avoid the impact of his comrades' blow.

" _Got you,"_ Cereza hissed as the gaping maw of a snake-like creature suddenly rose from the cobblestones beneath the two blood-addled Hunters, taking a massive bite out of the both of them and making them shriek in pain as their bodies called upon the old blood within them to heal. While they were still reeling from the blow Eileen appeared as if she'd materialized from the shadows, her twin blades both extended out to her sides as she swooped between them like the crow she was named after. There was a sickening wet sound of flesh being rent as she rushed past and crossed her arms, and the two Hunters fell onto their knees before falling flat, sans their heads as blood covered the narrow alley.

The two lady Hunters stood panting a while catching their breath, until Eileen straightened and gave Cereza a nod of approval. "That was nicely done. Wouldn't've thought it were possible to bag the two of them at once; you can color me impressed."

Cereza waved a hand dismissively. "I rarely get an opening to use that technique effectively most times. I just took a gamble on the chance those two wouldn't have enough sense left to mind each other's positions, and I got lucky."

"There's luck," argued Eileen in an amused tone, "and then there's clever. I'm more inclined to think you're of the latter sort." She drew herself up to her full height and used a Blood Vial. "Right then; I've still got one more mark left in the area, if you're still interested in lending this old girl a hand."

Cereza nodded and rose up off of the wall she'd been leaning against for support. "Age before beauty then," she said with a mischievous wink. Eileen's only response was a noncommittal grunt, but Cereza was certain that the veteran Hunter of Hunters was smirking in amusement beneath her crow mask.

.

Geralt swore passionately. "They did that… they really did that, just to contain the ashen blood plague?!"

"Aye," Djura nodded from where he sat opposite Geralt on the rooftop overlooking the majority of Old Yharnam. "The Church commanded that Old Yharnam was to be burnt to the ground, along with every living soul in it. And they made the Powder Kegs their instruments in carrying out the damnable deed." He turned and spat on the roof, gazing at the mounted gatling gun that was affixed to the roof. "But you want to know the worst part? The worst part, is that I think the Church _caused_ the ashen blood plague in the first place."

Geralt gaped at the Powder Keg. "...In the name of god, _why?!_ "

"Spreading their influence," Djura answered simply. "Think about it boy: an epidemic hits Yharnam's oldest and most historic district. Hundreds are infected, with no cure in sight. The healing Church was still in its infancy back then: word of their miraculous blood ministration was spreading, but there were still plenty of skeptics. But then the Church swooped in with their special blood, curing the incurable ashen blood, and causing the people to hail them as heroes sent by the gods." Djura _tsked_ in annoyance. "If that sounds too convenient, it's because it is. You couldn't ask for a sounder way to make the people embrace the Church with open arms. Only it seems that the plan worked too well: the ashen blood spread too fast for them to contain."

"So they had the Powder Kegs burn the old city to the ground," Geralt concluded grimly, hands balled into fists in anger. "Bastards. And they had the nerve to call _you_ heretics?"

Djura gave a short laugh and spread his arms wide. "Who better to blame for the tragedy of all the lives ruined that day than the ones who carried out the order to put the city to the flame? We were the perfect scapegoats, and the people's faith in the church wasn't marred by the truth."

Geralt scowled darkly. "Cereza was right: there is something _wrong_ with this city, and it isn't just the Great Ones the Church is trying to commune with."

"Afraid i'm the wrong person to talk to about that," Djura said with a shrug. "I stopped concerning myself with their affairs ever since the fire."

Geralt frowned, seeing this as a sort of negligence to Yharnam's people on Djura's part, but decided to change the subject. "How did you know I was coming?" He asked. "I was told to come here and say the bit about being a bear seeking his teeth, but I have no idea what it means. Is it something that only a Powder Keg would know?"

"No," Djura said. "It's the strangest thing. A few hours ago I was dozing a bit, and I had an odd dream. In the dream, I was approached by a white she wolf with antlers like a deer," Geralt, who had been taking a drink of water from a small flask he kept in his many pouches, nearly choked upon hearing Djura's words. "She spoke to me with the voice of a woman, and told me that a bear was coming to seek his teeth. She said that if I helped the bear to find his aforesaid teeth, it'd lead to my redemption." Djura gazed up at the sky in thought. "At first I thought it was just a dream. Redemption isn't exactly something I've ever thought of as something that's within my reach." He turned to Geralt. "Then you show up on my doorstep, echoing the words I heard in my dream."

Geralt blinked at Djura in a daze for a moment. "Okay," he muttered to himself, "so apparently Amelia can visit people in their dreams. Just what _else_ can she do?"

Upon overhearing Geralt's musings Djura sat up a little straighter. "Amelia?" He asked. "Did you just say Amelia? As in _Vicar_ Amelia?"

"Y-yes," Geralt answered, surprise clearly written upon his expression. "You know her?"

Djura bowed his head with a frown, and a few moments passed in silence before he answered. "Aye. She had only been a Vicar for a short time when the ashen blood hit Old Yharnam." He glanced over at Geralt with a look of curiosity. "So how is it that _you_ know her? You said earlier that you're not a Hunter of the Church, yet you know a Vicar."

"That's… a very bizarre story," Geralt admitted sheepishly. "My comrades and I came across her in the Great Cathedral, where she was succumbing to beast hood." Djura tensed at Geralt's words, fearing the worst. "In fact, she actually changed into a beast, but Draven- the leader of our hunt- he managed to save her by making her become… something else."

"'Something else?'" Djura frowned in confusion. "How do you mean? Like… a Kin?"

Geralt shook his head. "No, Draven's told us about Great One Kin, and Amelia doesn't seem like them, based on how Draven described them."

Djura blinked. "Wait… she's still alive then?"

"Yes," Geralt nodded. "She's taken on the appearance of a normal woman, except..." he gave Djura a conspiratory look. "She only appears perfectly human to people with low Insight."

Djura blinked before nodding in understanding. "And… to those who possess higher Insight?"

"Then she has the tail and ears of a wolf, and the antlers of a deer."

Djura's eyes widened. "By the gods… then that was no dream I had, was it? Somehow, she must have come to me in my sleep." He looked towards the far end of Old Yharnam, in the direction of the gates that separated the scorched ruin from the rest of the city. "I wonder… perhaps I should see her again."

Geralt hesitated, at first unsure of how to phrase his next query. "I take it that you knew Amelia… personally?"

"Not how I'd put it," Djura said reluctantly as he stood and began to pace restlessly. "I mentioned that I knew her when she was still newly a Vicar, when the ashen blood had hit. In the beginning, she was among the members of the Church who were in favor of stopping the plague by spreading the Church's healing blood. But when the Choir and Vicar Ludwig proposed the final solution of burning Old Yharnam to stop the spread of the ashen blood, Amelia personally headed the party within the Church who opposed having such a terrible crime committed."

"She opposed the other Vicars?" Geralt asked, clearly surprised. "I'm no political creature, but I would have thought that a newly appointed Vicar would be more inclined to keep their head down and not go stepping on anyone's toes."

Djura nodded, a small smile on his face. "Aye, I once told her the same thing. Not to mention I was confused since she approved of the methods used by the Powder Kegs in hunting beasts while the rest of the Church frowned on us. She told me that she believed that any method that saves lives, however detestable it might seem to others, is still saving lives." Djura's smile faded slightly as he added in a more subdued tone, "She also told me that good people standing by and doing nothing is all that it takes for evil to win." His hands curled into fists as his smile became a full-on frown. "But that's exactly what she did in the end: when the other Vicars out-voted her on the issue of whether or not they'd burn Old Yharnam, she rolled over and didn't stand in their way. She wouldn't even send a warning to those who were unaffected by the plague to flee before the fire started."

Geralt frowned. "Maybe the other Vicars ordered her to remain silent, or threatened her to hold her tongue?"

Djura sighed. "I kept telling myself that too. But the only one who can give me the answers i'm looking for is Amelia herself."

"Maybe not," Geralt said as he stood up, causing Djura to give him a confused look. "The process of saving Amelia from beast hood seems to have affected her mind: she doesn't remember much apart from her name and childhood, and she's reverted to a very naive and childlike state. We aren't sure if she'll ever be the same, though we are hoping that her memory will return someday."

Djura lowered his gaze sadly. "I see." He was silent for a long moment as he seemed to ponder something. "Even so… I feel that I should at least try. If nothing else, I at least want to see what's become of her; I owe her that much."

Geralt blinked in surprise. "Are you saying you'll come with me to see her? Are you sure? What about Old Yharnam?"

Djura took a long, mournful look at the burnt city before nodding and looking back at Geralt with a new resolve in his eyes. "Aye. I think it's time for me to stop guarding the ashes of the dead, and focus my attention on those who are still alive."

Geralt could not help but smile in triumph. He'd convinced Djura to leave Old Yharnam and his ghosts behind, a feat he suspected that Draven himself had been struggling to accomplish. _With Djura joining the hunt, maybe things really are changing,_ Geralt thought to himself. _Maybe Draven's fears that time will reset at the end of the hunt are groundless now._ Not, that is, that Geralt was prepared to believe such a thing was possible. Not yet, at least.

"We'd better get going then," Geralt said aloud. "It's not too far a journey to reach Odeon Chapel where we've been gathering survivors, but my comrades will be waiting for my return before we push on to our next objective."

Djura nodded, but then the veteran Hunter began to pull out his stake driver, which caused Geralt to frown and slowly begin to reach for the hilt of his great sword. "That's a good reflex to have," Djura noted, "but I mean you no ill will. I've a proposition for you, but it'll involve a friendly tussle between Hunters."

Geralt frowned, slightly relieved but not ready to drop his guard yet. "A proposal? Why do we have to fight each other over this 'proposal?'"

Djura appeared to take a moment in order to organize his reply. "I'm an old hand at being a Hunter, and some old habits simply don't die. I've been sizing you up from the moment you climbed up onto this rooftop, trying to get a feel for how you fight. Before my order was cast out, the Powder Kegs were working on the early designs of a new Powder Keg weapon, but they never had a chance to build it. There was also a unique problem with the weapon that made it impractical for a Hunter to use, but," he trailed off with a curious smile. "I wonder if you might be able to use it?"

Geralt nodded slowly in understanding. "So you want to fight me to see if your suspicions are correct?"

"Exactly. I can guess at how you fight based on what I observe until I'm blue in the face, but until I've actually had an opportunity to pit my blade against your own, I've no way of knowing for sure."

Geralt was hesitant for a moment, but the more he thought about it the more the idea seemed appealing. Cereza had often criticized him for being too slow to evade danger and instead relying on his insane (according to her) resilience to weather such punishment. If the unfinished Powder Keg weapon could somehow compliment his non-traditional style of hunting…

"Alright then," Geralt decided at last as he unslung his great sword and took a ready stance. "We go until one of us has to use a blood vial."

"Agreed," Djura nodded as he took up a stance of his own. "After all, you may be a moon-scented Hunter, but _I'm_ not. Not anymore."

Geralt's eyes widened briefly at Djura's last statement before he re-focused and tried to ignore the numerous questions now cropping up in the back of his mind. _'Moon-scented?' 'Used to be?' Was he a Paleblood once? How did he… stop being one?_ He shook his head to clear it as he and Djura began to circle each other. _Later. Right now I need to focus on my spar with Djura._ Suddenly Djura rolled to the right, and Geralt prepared to meet him with a wide swing...

.

Arianna wasn't sure what to make of the girl. Sure, the Hunters _said_ she was a Vicar of the Healing Church, but with the way she acted as she sat on the floor between Sophie and Evie listening raptly to the lead Hunter, you'd have thought she was another one of the children. She spoke in the manner of a child as well yet, there were times when she would surprise Arianna by spouting little bits of wisdom.

Arianna smiled at the look in the supposed Vicar's eyes: it was a look she often saw other women directing towards whatever young man had been lucky enough to capture their interest. It was naive and innocent, but it was there. From what the Hunters had told her, it had been their leader Draven who'd been the most passionate and vital in rescuing Amelia from the Grand Cathedral, and the woman easily detected a certain protective fondness from the Hunter directed at the girl. She might not have been married herself, but if there was one thing that Arianna had learned in her profession it was that love and affection came in all forms, and she'd learned how to spot many of them.

 _Are Vicar's supposed to take vows of chastity?_ She idly wondered as Draven began to describe how a dark masked stranger in his tale was beginning to climb up a sheer cliff using only a single rope as he pursued a giant, two men and the princess they had capture. _Though with the way she is, i doubt she'd even remember making a vow like that._ She suspected there was more to the Hunter's story of finding Amelia being assaulted by beasts in the cathedral, but it was easy to believe that the poor dear was so traumatized by the ordeal that it damaged her mind, leading to her current childish behavior.

Speaking of childish behavior, Arianna was finding it most amusing that the lead Hunter had promised Amelia a story about a swordsman chasing after a sinister six-fingered man to avenge the slaying of his father, but instead was telling a tale of a princess being captured by a group of rouges. Amelia had acted quite put-out at first, pouting like a spoiled child, but Draven kept insisting that she be patient and listen to his story. Not that Arianna herself or Evie and Sophie minded: the Hunter was an excellent storyteller, weaving colorful pictures with his words and inciting laughter from the girls by changing his voice to match the characters when they spoke in the story, and the story itself was quite compelling.

With a frown Arianna turned around and glanced at the nun off in the corner. She'd seen her sneaking a look or two over at Amelia from time to time, and although Arianna couldn't read the emotion behind the looks, she didn't much care for them. In fact, Arianna had once caught the nun staring at _her_ , although she quickly looked away when Arianna caught her, but the look she'd been giving her had _not_ been friendly. She had a bad feeling about the woman, and silently vowed to keep her away from Sophie and Evie, and Amelia as well if necessary. She'd come to suspect lately that the Healing Church wasn't as full of saints as they made themselves out to be.

Before Arianna could brood any further on Adella's behavior, the lead Hunter expertly delivered a line with such authentic reluctance that she found her attention drawn back to the story.

"'I do not mean to pry… but you don't by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?'"

Amelia's eyes lit up and she squealed in excitement, almost bouncing like a child while the Hunter just gave her a brief smile and a wink before continuing his story. Arianna bit her lip and had to cover her mouth to keep from chortling: if Amelia had possessed a tail like a dog, she suspected it'd be wagging frantically right about now.

.

"So it's a weight problem?" Geralt concluded at last as he looked over the schematic alongside Djura. The two Hunters were inside the ruined attic of what had once been a small three story house, the light from a single small lamp providing scarce illumination within Djura's secret bolt-hole. A few workbenches covered with scattered tools and bottles of oils and other substances were the room's only furniture, and on the table before the two Hunters was the unfinished design for the Powder Keg's last, and certainly most unusual, weapon.

"Exactly," Djura nodded. "We have had most of the means to make the damn thing, but the design always points back to needing a strong sturdy base, and all of the additional components added on would only make it heavier. A Hunter using the completed version of this monster would be hard pressed to pull off an evasive roll, much less even lift this bloody giant when not in two separate parts."

Geralt nodded, a thoughtful and eager gleam in his mismatched eyes. "But then, if the offhand piece works as intended, then the decreased ability to dodge would be offset…"

"We built a prototype and had our strongest give it a go," Djura offered with a sigh while shaking his head slowly. "Poor sod nearly broke his back trying to lift the thing. But _you_ …" He gave Geralt a toothy grin. "That one single hit you managed to land on me during our little scrap… I honestly thought that was it for a moment."

Geralt winced. "So did I. Sometimes I… I feel like I don't know my own strength. I know that the old blood makes us Hunters stronger, but even then…" He frowned as a new thought occurred to him. _When we first met Draven thought that I had been on more than one hunt; said that my weapon and armor were 'too advanced' or something, but that my skills were sub-par. Cereza's always going on about how 'ridiculous' my strength is, but I thought that was just because she focuses more on Arcane energies and thus isn't as strong physically as the average Hunter. It's like… this actually_ isn't _my first hunt. But that isn't possible: I'd be able to remember the last hunt if I was stuck in a time loop… right?_

Shoving his doubts aside, Geralt looked over the schematic one more time. "What if we were to use my sword as the base? Do we have the tools and materials to try and recreate the weapon?"

Djura gave Geralt an odd look before letting out a sudden hoot of laughter. "Using a copy of Vicar Ludwig's 'holy blade' to create a weapon conceived by the Powder Keg heretics?"

Geralt offered the veteran Hunter a smile of his own. "Have to admit, it sounds quite ironic when you put it that way." He hefted the great sword from his back and held it one-handed- much to Djura's disbelief- while Djura cleared a space for it on one of the workbenches. "Alright," Geralt muttered as he set the great sword down. "Where do we start?"

.

"Just a little further," Cereza reassured as she peered around the corner to check for beasts. "We'll reach the Chapel after one more block; keep close."

Her companion was a young woman with long black hair dressed in a gorgeous blue dress that was torn slightly in a few places. She had soft dark brown eyes that were alight with fear and uncertainty but nonetheless she nodded in response to the Hunter's command.

"R-right, stay close…" she bit her lip as her Hunter guide began to move again, following after her as closely as she could without actually bumping into the woman and nearly jumping at every dark shadow in the alleyways lining the street.

 _I can't believe Eileen,_ Cereza silently grumbled to herself. _Having the nerve to dump this… socialite on me! We both found her being attacked by beasts: she could have at least had the decency to help me see her to safety!_ She frowned when her heightened sense of hearing picked up on the woman's rapid breathing. Turning around Cereza saw how frightened she looked, and her heart went out to her in pity. _I wasn't much different when I first woke up in Iosefka's clinic._ She decided it would be kinder to reassure the girl.

"Here… Selene, was it?" Cereza asked, getting the girl's attention. "No need to worry: this isn't my first hunt. I'll keep you safe until we reach Odeon Chapel."

Selene took a deep breath and closed her eyes, steadying herself before opening them again and nodding at Cereza with a shaky but grateful smile. "...Thanks," she whispered. "I… I really thought I was done for when my bodyguards were killed. But then you and the other Hunter… I'd heard rumors of Yharnam's hunts, but I never imagined that they were this terrible."

Cereza did her best to fake a confident smile. "Not all of them. You could say that the city's having a bad night tonight. We've had bad hunts before, according to the few senior Hunters who are with us, but nothing as bad as this one." She noticed that her words weren't exactly having the calming effect she'd been going for, so she changed tactics. "Hey, don't worry. The hunt might be especially bad tonight, but we've got some of the best Hunters in all of Yharnam with us."

"Really?" Selene asked, beginning to look hopeful as they rounded another corner. "I see… can they all use magic like you?"

Cereza chuckled a little. "It's not 'magic' exactly, but I don't blame you for calling it that: not even I know what it is exactly. They 'can' use it, but i'm the only one in our group who specializes in it. Now Geralt, he's a sodding monster with that great sword he carries. I've never seen a Hunter as strong as him, and he's absolutely massive! It's like he's some great metal man with human skin or something: anything hits him, he just shrugs it off and hits back, but harder! Turns beasts into bloody smears on the walls!"

Selene's eyes widened in amazement and wonder, which made Cereza's smile grow a little. _That's it Cereza, just impress her with how tough you and the boys are, and she'll forget all about the scary beasts that want to eat her._ "Are there any other Hunters in your group?" Selene inquired.

"Just one more: Draven. He's sort of our leader: he's been on so many hunts he says he's lost count. He's strong, but not as strong as Geralt- _no-one's_ as strong as Geralt," Cereza affirmed while shaking her head. "But he's fast. He uses a smaller blade than Geralt, and i've seen him use it to make killing beasts look like… like a dance," Cereza finished at last. "He just sort of… 'flows' from beast to beast, pissing them off by slicing into their skin and then stabbing them where it counts once they slip up and give him an opening. And one time when he really just _ran_ , he moved so fast that I lost sight of him, even though I was looking right at him."

Selene smiled. "What are they like?"

Cereza shrugged. "That's hard to sum up. It's way easier to just meet them." She smiled and looked ahead. "Which should be happening soon: Odeon Chapel's just around the corner. Draven's there entertaining some children we managed to rescue by telling stories."

Selene giggled a little. "A great and mighty Hunter who tells stories to children? That's not what I pictured when I first heard of Yharnam's Hunters."

"Well Draven's not exactly what you'd call a 'normal' Hunter," Cereza said with a roll of the eyes as the women began to climb the steps of Odeon Chapel. "Especially after recent events. He was sort of… quietly frantic when I first met him, but ever since he saved Vicar Amelia, he's changed. It's like there was this calmer, saner version of Draven buried underneath all of the gruff and grimness he'd gotten so accustomed to after being a Hunter for so long."

Opening the doors to the chapel, Cereza was pleased to be greeted by the sight of Amelia and Gascoigne's daughters cheering and clapping as Draven wrapped up whatever story he'd been telling them. Cereza smiled and waved at Draven, who returned the smile and stood up to greet her properly.

"Welcome back Cereza. I trust your hunting session with Eileen was productive and informative?"

"Fairly," Cereza responded evenly. "I found another survivor while I was out there with her, holed up in the Lower Cathedral Ward." She turned and gestured at Selene as she stepped nervously into the sanctuary. "I take it story time went well?" She asked with a smirk. "Don't suppose Geralt's made it..?"

She trailed off at the look on Draven's face. It was an odd one, to be sure, and one that Cereza could not readily place. If she had to make an attempt at describing it, she would say that Draven was somewhere between bitterness, disbelief, and a little of that old anger she used to see lurking behind his eyes before his rescue of Amelia. And to make things even _more_ bizarre, this chimeric look of Draven's was directed not at Cereza, but at Selene, who was giving Draven a look of wondrous surprise and… joy?

"F-F-Falken?!" Slene gasped. "Is it really you?"

.

 **Author's Note: Falken? Who is this 'Falken' that Selene has mistaken Draven for? Who is Selene, and what relationship does she have with Draven, if any?**

 **Okay, that's enough rhetorical questions for now. Before I get any messages related to the lore, let me quote Draven: 'Theories… Endless theories and speculation.' If you want to see a different interpretation of the lore, I suggest you either find yourself a new Bloodborne fanfic to read or write one yourself.**

 **I know, i'm being a great big tease by not showing Geralt's shiny new Powder Keg weapon. Just wait till next chapter and I promise, you'll get to see the teeth that the bear found. As always, please favorite and review. I mean it: reviews are like Bonfires for writers like me. The more of them we see, the less dead we feel inside ;)**


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